Songbird
by Bell the Scribe
Summary: What if Solona Amell was never implicated in Jowan's escape, and was present for the events of Broken Circle? An exploration of possibilities. Now: Uldred is a creeper.
1. The Calm Mask

_This fic is a partner to 'Kicking and Screaming.' While it is not necessary to read either together, eventually there will be a little bit of overlap, especially in sequels. This is a sort of 'AU', in that Solona Amell is present for the events happening in the Tower, instead of becoming a Grey Warden. Enjoy!_

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* * *

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They called her Sol, an old Tevinter word for sun. Solona Amell was her real name, as real as mattered in the Tower, and she was a curious apprentice, always looking in old, musty places for things no one wanted to read anymore. So it was that she found many things interesting that others did not, and had a great deal of pursuits that were not magical in the slightest. She was not especially _good_ at them, not like her natural affinity for the Fade. Her paintings and sketches were boring, uninspired, or downright unrecognizable. Her efforts at knitting were snarled and tangled, unusable except as dishrags or toys for the mousers to shred. Her attempts at cooking were…unappetizing, to be kind. Plants did not fare well under her care.

But there was one area Sol was able to excel in, that did not come as naturally as her magic. This was music. She was a natural, with an excellent ear for it, and the ability to recreate it on any instrument she could get her hands on (in the tower, this was few, indeed). She could sing, as well, (but not dance, Maker forgive her), and she was heard to say that, the trick of it was, to find the magic in the music.

Needless to say, she made the templars somewhat uneasy, when she said things like that.

This was the only thing she did or said to make them watch her, though. She was a good girl. Never a toe out of line, never an unkind word. She was not a mage to lose her temper, or have breakdowns. She seemed serene, calm, in complete control. It was maddening for some, who found it unnerving for someone to never be upset over anything. Her friend Jowan found it comforting, a nice foil to his constant neurosis (as well as his time spent with Neria Surana, a real terror of a mage).

Her focuses in schools of magic were considered odd as well, eclectic, mixed. Most expected her to be offensive, as many mages who manifested with lightning tended to be. But she barely knew any. Her proclivities tended towards Creation and Spirit, but were not confined there. She was most adept at manipulating mana; clashing it, absorbing it, nullifying, creating magic. Her other skills lent her the ability to shape with her mind, using her will to create barriers, shields, or sharp edges. She was a passable healer, and her spell blooms were always rather beautiful. She was considered to be, possibly, the least dangerous mage in the tower. Barely any of her skills could be used offensively at all.

_That_, more than anything, made Irving worry about her Harrowing. What if she did not know the answers to the sloth demon's riddles? Could she win against him, his strength? What about the rage demon, or even just the fade spirits with a less-kind bent to them? She would have to be Harrowed soon, or Tranquil'd. Solona was getting older, it would have to be done. Greagoir wouldn't let him put it off any longer, for all he looked upon her just as kindly.

He hoped she would be all right.

* * *

Sol sat, nervously, in the library, her outward calm doing nothing to give away her agitation. She waited, twisting the waves of her russet hair around a finger in what looked like idle distraction. She needed to get work done, but her concentration for destruction had always been somewhat…lacking. And she had other worries today.

"Didn't think you would come, you know." The mage's light tone made her look up from the book she had been busy not-reading. "Surprised me, that you'd even offer to help. For all I've heard, you're the templars' little pet, always following the rules."

She swallowed, perhaps the only indication of her nervousness. Outwardly, the serene mask did it's job, giving him the shallowest of smiles as she gestured for him to sit next to her. Their meeting was odd, but since he had been called to teach some Creation classes, and she was in sore need of a new mentor, with Wynne having gone off to Ostagar, it could be assumed this was what they would be speaking about. Templars couldn't fathom little Sol doing anything otherwise, with a mage of ill repute like Anders.

"This is all I've known, Anders, since I was three years old. Is it so surprising I would be good at surviving in here?" She asked, softly. Her voice was never anything but soft. "What would you need me to do, to help you?"

"Simple, really. There's a store room, a small one, on the first floor. It's got some loose stone that'd provide a good escape point. Thing is, it's where some important artifacts, and lyrium, are stored. So, it's always got one templar guard, you know." The apostate grinned at her in his off-hand, rogueish way, and only her good sense and years of practice kept her from blushing. "So, I just need you to take him away from his post for a bit. I think you know the one, Cullen? Just ask him to carry your books; I'm sure he'll trip all over himself for you."

She did color, then, a little from anger and a little from shame. Cullen had a crush on her at one time, it was true, though the latest rumors pinned him as pining after Surana. He was a sweet man, one of the nicest of the templars in the tower, for all that he didn't really know her. She swallowed. Having him leave his post, and Anders escaping, would get him in a great deal of trouble. Sol opened her mouth to refuse, when the mage across from her added, "Unless, you know, the rumors are true, and you really are dallying with him. I could see how you wouldn't want to get your lover in trouble."

She snapped her mouth shut, swallowing again. The rumors were not true, they'd barely even spoken before, but refusing to help Anders now would certainly lend credence to them. And there was no greater shame in the Tower than being a templar's pet mage and secret flame. You were considered a traitor to your own kind to even think of it (though, it was impossible to _not_ think about it, sometimes, as those things generally went), and Solona was not that indoctrinated.

"I…I will do it, then." She grimaced, the first break in her mask, and Anders seemed almost surprised to see the emotion. "When?"

"This evening, directly after supper. I'll be waiting for you in the library; as your new mentor, I'm going to have to help you pick out some suitably heavy tomes, you know." He winked at her, excusing himself from his chair. "I suppose the others were wrong about you; you're not quite as brainwashed as we all thought."

"Oh, goody." She murmured under her breath. Nice to be rewarded for being so obviously manipulated, certainly.

"It's a shame you can't escape, too." He grinned. "Though I suppose since this is all you've ever known, you'd be a mess outside the tower."

"I suppose I would." She agreed, a little sadly. It _was_ sad to not know how to function outside of a small, singular place in the world.

"Well, no use crying over it! At least one of us will have our freedom. And hey, you and Cullen could even get a little closer! Can't say I would mind some extra time to get out." Was he leering? He was leering! She shuddered, more from his expression than his implication, which made him laugh as he left, calling out to her, "I'll meet you in the library after supper, then! Have to get you all ready for your instruction."

This was said loudly, of course, so the templars would hear. No more assumptions on their part; he was simply her replacement mentor. Nothing out of the ordinary for her to be speaking with him, then.

Sighing, she conjured a spell wisp to float around her head, a little…exhausted. Dealing with Anders was more draining than she had expected. Rather than drain her further, the act relaxed her. Its lazy circles made her…calmer.

She smoothed her apprentice robes out, stood up…and nearly smacked nose-first into a solid templar collar. And plate would be a very painful thing to hit one's head on.

Looking up to see who it was, she smiled slightly. "Hello, Cullen."

"Er, h-hello. I…ah, I need you to come with me." The red head stammered, taking a few steps back, uncomfortable with the proximity. She was suddenly tense; had someone overheard her conversation with Anders? Was she in trouble? Her face cracked in apprehension and Cullen seemed…startled. "It's…it's nothing bad! H-how could it be, I mean…you're a model student and…well, I mean, it…it could be bad, but I'm sure _you_—"

"Cullen." Sol cut in, as he started babbling, placing a hand on his forearm briefly. "Where are we going?"

He went scarlet and nearly shook off her hand with his violent retraction, more out of self-consciousness than revulsion. "Er…th-the…Harrowing chamber." He swallowed, the words laced with apprehension. She understood then.

"I see." Her heart went stone cold with sudden fear. "I…yes, all right. Shall we?" One couldn't prepare for the Harrowing. You simply…attended. And survived, if you could.

"I-I'm sure you'll be fine, you know." She wondered who he was trying to reassure more. For her part, she stared at the floor as they walked, scared into silence. "Y-you're a very strong mage, a-and I'm…I'm just sure you'll be fine."

She tried to say thanks, but her throat had gone dry. He seemed upset, himself. "I…I'm sorry." Sol nodded; neither of them had any choice in the matter, anyway. This was just…something that had to happen.

A heavy gauntlet on her shoulder startled her, and she nearly stumbled. It tightened painfully to steady her, Cullen clearing his throat in embarrassment. "You…you know, I don't th-think I've ever seen you so…well, you've always been so calm."

She reached up and gently touched the gauntleted fingers with her own, unguarded ones. She felt them twitch, but he didn't pull away. She took one deep, shuddering breath, rearranged her face, and then presented him that nice, serene presence she was more used to. "I'm fine, Cullen. Don't worry about me. Whatever comes, I'm certain I'll be all right."

He didn't seem reassured, but he let her shoulder go, and they continued towards the Harrowing chamber and her deadly test.


	2. The Mouse, the Knight and the Bear

The transition into the Fade was quite…jarring. One moment she was watching Lyrium crawl over her skin, the next she was in a weird, warped land of awkwardly shaped statues and twisted hills. A vase, oddly enough, provided her with some small orbs of light that felt warm and comforting to the touch. She took a short, apprehensive moment to get her bearings, then stepped out into the Fadescape.

The first jolt of lightning from the floating wisp-like creature was a surprise, and frightening one. She had never felt _pain_ in her dreams before. She'd never been attacked like this.

Her first, frantic thought was to hide, and so she stumbled, scrambled behind a jutting piece of pock-marked land, hugging her knees to her chest and slowing her breathing down. She knew, intellectually, that things were different here. If she had been hit by lightning in the real world, her hair would be standing on end, and she would smell faintly of burnt flesh. She wouldn't have been able to so quickly duck for cover. This was the Fade, and she needed to accomplish her task, face down her demon, and _get out_.

The arcane blast from her hands as she peeked out from behind the 'rock' was feeble, and shaky, and poorly aimed. Thus it was a surprise to her that the little orb winked out of existence from a glancing impact. Swallowing, steeling herself, she continued on, doing the same with each little light that she came upon, one after the other. Until Mouse.

"Someone else thrown to the wolves, as fresh and unprepared as ever?" His voice was indignant, for a rat-creature. "It isn't right that they do this, the templars. Not to you, me, anyone."

Solona paused to consider it. She was in the Fade, specifically to seek out a demon…or be sought out by a demon. And a little rat was speaking to her. Who was to say this was not one? "Are you the demon I was sent to defeat?" She asked, somewhat…disappointed. Who had ever heard of a mouse demon?

Yet, people died in the Harrowing. Often.

"What? No!" The rat…mouse…transformed in a flash of white light, becoming a human mage. "Allow me to welcome you to the Fade. You can call me, well…Mouse. And no, I'm not the demon you're to face. I was trapped here, for taking too long with my Harrowing. The templars destroyed my body, assuming I failed. Or so I think. It has been…quite a long time."

Icy talons of fear curled around her heart, then. "If I am under a time limit, and you are not who I have to face, then I need to go, Mouse." She mumbled afterward a 'sorry,' and strode past him. There was nothing to be done for him, now, as insensitive as it sounded. He was trapped; she wanted, needed, to live.

"Good, don't waste time!" Mouse scrambled after her, his form flashing back into the rodent immediately. She felt him latch onto the back of her robes and scramble up, sharp little claws felt through the thick material. She shuddered, though she did not brush him off, even when he perched on her shoulder. "There's something contained here, just for you to face. A test for you, a tease for it; you're its way out if the templars wouldn't kill you immediately."

"It can't be just as simple as killing it," she muttered under her breath, slowing down, remembering the orbs of lightning that had dissipated with uncomfortable ease. "It wouldn't be failed as often if all it took was _killing_. And what of mages like me? I can barely cast anything offensive; to _punish_ mages like that, who are less dangerous?"

"They're sadistic bastards who would rather any mage, with such a small chance of possession, be put down like a rabid dog!" Mouse hissed. His anger was incredibly loud and uncomfortable, right next to her ear. "They don't want you prepared so that they know, even at your weakest, you can fend off a demon. It's all another way of controlling you, in their little prison."

His rants worried her. He sounded unstable, desperate. If he was not a demon, if he was really another apprentice who had simply…lost his body, what would prevent him from taking hers? Everything here, from the odd tuber stalks and pitted landscape, to the heavy-but-not rodent on her shoulder, made her shiver as if someone had dragged their nails down a chalkboard. It was all…_wrong_. Discordant. It hurt.

* * *

After she had slumped, caught by Irving as her essence was sucked into the Fade, Sol had been laid gently on the ground, arranged as if asleep. She twitched and fidgeted, thrashed and stilled, alternating between nightmare and peace. She was in the midst of her Harrowing, and by nature it was not a pleasant jaunt through dreamland.

Cullen stood over her with his sword out, thankful for once for the gauntlets locking his hand around the hilt. He was sweating far too much for it to be safe to hold the weapon above her, otherwise.

Maker protect her, for he could only hate himself if he had to do this.

* * *

Valor was…beautiful. The air around him seemed to whine and shimmer and she could _feel_ magic, and music, ringing in her veins like lyrium. He was the only thing in the Fade that didn't make her skin crawl. He was not _good_, not benevolent or altruistic or comforting. But he was _pure_, and she could feel it resonate within her.

And he would help, he would give her a weapon he fashioned, if she would defeat him.

"Valor, I am not a warrior. I do not fight; how could I defeat you?" Solona's fingers travelled up to her wavy hair to twist for tactile comfort, brushing past Mouse in a jarring, re-realization that she had him on her shoulder. "I am…a healer. A creator. I have very little in the way of…offense."

"The mages would be so cowardly as to send in one who could not even defend herself? Are they truly so depraved?" Valor seemed…irritated? No, it was more…offended. The idea offended him. His calmness bolstered her, reminding her of how she _usually_ presented and controlled herself. This place had her terrified, so it was winning. That was wrong.

"I can defend myself. But I was led to believe…" she glanced down, awkwardly, at the creature-apprentice on her shoulder, "…that defense was not enough. I have to kill it."

Valor paused. "I…cannot aid you, mortal. This is not my purpose here. I may only lend you a weapon, if you deserve it, but it is of no use in the hands of one who cannot fight. I am sorry."

When he turned away from her, she felt something in her chest break. The one reassuring presence in the Fade that she had met had simply…turned her away.

"However, if you would wish it," Valor stated, his voice bolstering her momentarily once more, "I can give you an honorable death, ensuring your essence is not devoured by the demon who hunts you." And just like that, her momentary hopes were dashed to the ground. He would kill her, to save her, then? He said it so conversationally, as if it was a mere trifle. She bowed her head at his back.

"No, Valor. I will face this demon, and I will triumph, somehow." The words in her throat were hollow, and it was a little ridiculous that she felt it constrict and tighten in fear. But, Fade or no, her body believed itself real, and acted as a real body would. There was no helping it.

"Very well. Leave me, then; your opponent awaits." Sol did so, with Mouse hissing in her ear that she was a fool to leave behind such a valuable opportunity, for truly, if she could not defeat a _spirit_ who bore her no ill will, what chance did she have against a _demon_?

She didn't answer, because she didn't know.

* * *

It had been only an hour, and Cullen couldn't help fidgeting. Irving looked concerned, as did Greagoir. At some point, there was supposed to be a flash of power, a little tremor, that would signal her meeting with the benign spirit, Valor, and gaining his staff. Or…a departure, of power, of life, as he slew her.

There had been neither. It was, well…different. Disconcerting. It bred uncertainty, and gnawed at him. He hadn't had to kill a mage yet during their Harrowing. He'd been blessed with the Maker's own luck so far to be exempt from most.

It would only be fair if his first execution would be of a mage he used to pine after.

* * *

The sloth demon's plodding nature belied the danger, the disruption she felt when she was near it. It was strong, rough, but also soothing by nature. It was like a lullaby, almost, with enough eeriness to drive all comfort away. Its power gave her goosebumps.

Its talk of eating her and Mouse did not do anything to soothe her nerves.

"But not all demons are _demons_. Worry about the one hunting you." It was lazy, and, well, slothful, and somewhat intimidating to look at, but it did not seem eager to engage her in battle. In a way, she took solace in that. It could hurt her, badly, if it desired. Its lack of desire to was a step in the proper direction.

"What can you tell me of it?" Sol asked, softly.

"Hmph. It is a dim-witted thing of fire and anger. I have no patience for it." Sloth yawned, showing unnecessary amounts of teeth. "I would prefer you begone and dispatch it quickly, so I may get back to my rest."

"I…" Sol started. Fire and anger? Rage demon, then, likely enough. That wasn't…terrible. "Would you help, at all? Could you?"

"I could, if I wished it." Sloth replied, slow as ever. "But I do not. Too much effort. What would I get from it? No meal, for you would leave. Less rest than I would have had if I simply laid here. And if you could not defeat Valor, you have no chance against _me_." It huffed. "No, you have nothing to offer me, young mage, that I would put forth the effort to take."

"What…about…" She racked her brain. "I could…I could help you get rest? Go back to sleep?"

"Now how would you do that?" For all that it sounded dismissive, it also sounded curious. "A full meal is a fine way, but I doubt you have that in mind."

"If you can help me against the demon, Sloth, then I will teach you a lullaby." She bit her lip. It sounded silly enough, but maybe…

"I have my own, already, mortal. You can feel it well enough." Sloth stood, heavily, on those paws, making her tense. How did he know? "But, very well. If you can provide me with a better one, then I will aid you."

"A-all right." She ignored Mouse's protest from her shoulder, his little claws digging in. She wondered how she knew what rat claws felt like to apply it. Perhaps she was thinking of cats.

Perhaps she was letting herself get distracted.

"Golden slumbers kiss your eyes," She started softly. She let her magic coat her throat; she let herself feel into the eb and flow of the Fade around her. She even plucked softly at the ripples of Sloth's presence, weaving it into the song. She had no instrument but her voice, and she wanted it to cloak like a blanket. "Smiles await you when you rise."

Sloth yawned, settling back down.

"Sleep, pretty baby,  
Do not cry,  
And I will sing you a lullaby.

Care is heavy, therefore sleep,  
While I o'er you watch do keep.  
Sleep, pretty darling,  
Do not cry,  
And I will sing you a lullaby"

It seemed ridiculous to apply those words to the demon. Darling, pretty baby…he was a grizzled, ugly old thing, with spikes and ragged fur, raw flesh and blood shot eyes. But she let the magic into the words, she weaved it around them, took it from the very center of herself, and made it warm.

And so Sloth fell asleep, heavily, deeply, and she realized her mistake.

"Idiot!" Mouse raged. "How can he help us now? You've destroyed two chances to get aid against your hunter!"

She sat down, heavily, stunned. She had, hadn't she? Solona had thought she was being clever, had thought she'd found a way to survive here, to gain an ally. Instead, she'd lost another because she hadn't even _thought_ one minute ahead.

"You're a sad little fool. And you're running out of time." Mouse hissed, incensed. "You need to face your demon, or they'll kill you anyway. Unless you simply wish to hide as I did, and let time slip away.

"At this point, I'm not sure if it isn't a better option, for you."

* * *

Cullen was tired, himself. It had been three hours of nothing, of watching her twitch and waiting for something to happen. Some signal that she was progressing, that she was gaining her allies and beating back the demon, or being beaten back by the demon.

After three hours, nothing.

It was just like she had been before; impossibly frustrating to read. She was always, _always_, just blank, never wavering far in any direction. To have the first emotion he had ever seen from her be fear, fear for the Harrowing, had startled him.

Cullen had a crush on her, once (and, oh Maker, the rumor mill still hadn't forgiven him). He'd thought her perhaps nicer, gentler, than a lot of the mages. She was willing to speak to him if he said anything, but she never made him uncomfortable, or flirted, or teased, or insulted.

Eventually, her lack of anything but bland pleasantness had cooled his ardor, and he simply began to like her as one would someone who was nice to talk to, but really not very interesting.

He would still very much like not to have to kill her. It felt like killing something very innocuous, and unassuming, like cutting down an apple tree for the possibility of bearing sour fruit. He laughed, silently to himself (as most templars learned early on to do) at the comparison; how simple and inelegant a plant to compare her to, and yet how fitting.

The sharp smell of ozone, and Solona's sudden thrashing, brought him crashing out of his wandering thoughts. The battle against the demon had begun.

* * *

_The lullaby featured here is called "Golden Slumbers." I'm intentionally not really explaining what Solona is doing with her magic, because it's fun and I like to. Hope you enjoyed reading this chapter. Next one will come after another chapter of 'Kicking and Screaming.'_


	3. Broken Rules

Mouse had left her, convinced she would die. He did not wish to be around when the demon who hunted her came for her, ripped into her essence and possessed her. He had been particularly cruel. How little she knew of power, how blindly she stumbled through without thinking. He was wrong to think she could be great, could find her way through the test. One more sacrifice to prove the templars justified, that weak mages were dangerous and needed to be put down.

She passed by Valor on her way back to the fire-ring, trembling and tired from an attack of wolves, ghostly and unsettling, barely-there things that still ripped into her painfully. She stared at his back for a moment, before summoning up a fierce and ugly glare. Picking up a rock, she threw it, trying to hit his helmet. It missed him completely, soaring past his shoulder, though he did pause in rearranging his floating weapon-sculpture to turn to her.

"Did you come for a duel, or an honorable death, then, mortal?" He asked, tone as even as ever. He did not seem at all perturbed by the expression on her face.

"Of course not. You think I am in any condition to survive?" Solona snapped, gesturing violently at her scattered appearance. She had not the will yet to alter herself in the Fade; she looked as she felt she should look, battered and beaten after assault from wolves. "You said you are Valor, but you are just a bully. It is not valorous to challenge me to a duel, when I tell you I am no warrior! Valor is about courage, and honor, not weapons and combat." She realized, vaguely, that most of her anger, her irritation, was stemming from fear, loneliness, and desperation and not from the spirit, but she didn't want to reign herself in.

Valor, for his part, seemed…incensed. "How dare you, mortal? You cower away and refuse to fight me, only to return and spew vitriol? Begone, before I slay you despite your objections."

She stomped her foot, childishly, in near tantrum. "Sodding _spirit_!" It was nearly a shriek, and she felt her throat go sore at it. "_Bloody Fade!_" She stalked off, past him, feeling his glare all the way around the bend.

She took a deep, shuddering breath once he was out of sight. Maker, was she _insane_, or just bloody _stupid_? She was marching to face a Rage demon; storming in furious would only feed the thing! She needed to calm down and get her head on straight. The problem was, she had a lot of practice _looking_ calm, which was entirely different from _being_ calm. She could act the part, play the bland little apprentice, unruffled and immovable against the turmoil around her, but that didn't work on demons. They could see you, see into you, pull out your emotions and thoughts and twist them around.

Still, what choice was there? She had to try, and becoming…_Mouse_ was far from what she wanted. Perhaps…perhaps she could win. She had a little lightning, some arcane bolts, and some healing. Perhaps she could pull this off. There had been lyrium veins in the fire-ringed area; she could win by attrition. She would have to.

Sol steeled herself, took a deep breath, clenched her fists, and reassured herself she was in control. She would not die here. She would win, allies, weapons or no. She could do this.

The appearance of the demon, fire and heat and molten sludge, banished all of those thoughts from her mind. She was going to _die_.

"And so it comes to me at last." Its presence was like poorly timed percussion, its voice vibrating her chest til she feared her heart would burst. Violence, hate, _fury_ lanced through it, more like blunt warhammers than anything else. "Soon I shall see the land of the living with your eyes, creature. You shall be mine, body and soul."

"You…" her throat went dry and she swallowed convulsively. "You know the templars will just cut you down, right? That they stand above me with their swords drawn, ready to finish me off the moment you take on my form?"

"They are welcome to try!" The demon growl-laughed, a throaty, frightening sound. It surged forward, and as if on cue, several small lightning wisps appeared, pulsing at her. She shrieked, shattering one with an arcane blast and then _running_. It followed her, the wisps trailing it, and she felt the heat and the fear as she desperately remembered that she had those things from the vase and _Maker it was right behind her_—

In desperation, she threw up a shield between herself and it, watching it beat against it, the reverberations shuddering through her mind as she fought to sustain it against the lightning and the fire. There had to be some way, something she had learned…pieces of lectures floated back to her.

_Less intelligent than most, uses simple tactics, blind fury and meaningless rage, weak to cold…_

Sol had no ice spells, nothing to freeze it, and its simple, straightforward tactics were enough to kill her. Its intelligence was not really anything to work upon; it would not be distracted or tricked now that it saw her and knew what it wanted. She interrupted her scattered thoughts to dissipate another wisp, then trying to repair the cracks in her shield.

It was laughing at her. She had to do _something_…

That clear sound, the steady, pure music of Valor, washed over her momentarily, drowning out the disorganized bass beat of the Rage demon. First one wisp, then the second, vanished against his blade. She stared in such astonishment that she almost lost the tenuous mental grip on her shield. The rage demon whirled on him.

"You interfere where you should not, spirit! This creature is mine!" Its bellow held the exact same malice, the exact same all-consuming anger it had shown her. It never varied.

"I will not fight you demon; you are this mortal's opponent." Valor agreed, his sword sheathed once more. Sol quivered; then why was he…? "I simply strove to ensure this fight would be as is proper; a duel, without your wraith slaves to interfere."

She nearly let out a barking laugh. Best not to complain, surely, but would he simply just watch as it ripped her to pieces? No, he would not. He was leaving, objective fulfilled. She was alone again with the demon.

"Rragh!" It lashed against her shield with renewed vigor. "I will rip your essence apart, creature! There will be nothing left for Mouse or the sleeping one to feed on!"

"Stop it!" Solona shrieked, watching the edges of her shield crumbling. She was quickly wearing from the effort.

"Your pleas mean nothing to me!" There was so much _hate_, so much _bile_ in the thing's voice and presence, she shuddered. It was so wrong! It was mindless, heedless hate.

…_blind fury and meaningless rage…_

It _was_ mindless, it had no focus. The demon was discordant, like the others, because it had no purpose. Valor had purpose, had a purity the demon could only rail against, but it had nothing but its hate, not even something to hate. That was the arrhythmia in its essence that rattled her. It had nothing but all-consuming anger, and it didn't even know why.

Demons were spirits of a certain sort, who had a monopoly on a section of base emotions and a simple desire to escape, to become something else. They were…_unhappy_. Nothing happy would wish so fervently to not be itself.

Sol was tired. She was tired of being pushed about, yelled at and abandoned. She was quite tired of being manipulated or attacked. And for once, she allowed herself to be tired of this damn _test_. Kill this demon? They trapped her in the Fade with a specific demon to see if she would die to it. She would kill it or be killed, and for the first time since she was carried into the Tower, thumb in her mouth and eyes wide with wonder, she rebelled against the options carefully chosen for her.

How dare they all decide her outcomes, her choices. How dare they hang a sword over her head, waiting for the moment she would fall. She had followed all the rules. She had never spoken out of turn. She had lived in their cage and done as they'd asked and now they had simply pushed her into the Fade with no warning, no preparation, nothing.

How dare they decide what she would accomplish here, or what she would not.

She _reached_ forward, carefully maintaining her shield, and _touched_ the rage demon's essence. She felt into it, the broken rhythms, the disruptions, the stuttering beats and violent dissonance, and she _plucked_ at it, like a string. For the first time, the rage demon simply…stopped.

"What…what are you doing?" It shrieked, sliding backward. She bit her lip, concentrating. She felt something slide into place, and the demon began to shiver. "Stop! I…I am…" She smoothed out the tone, evened the beat. The fire of the demon diminished, and its confusion grew. She was making something, doing something…her concentration bled into it, and the shield fell, but the demon was no longer trying to kill her. The fact that it felt confusion, that something wavered in the rage and the fury, kept it locked in place. Only a little more to go and then—

A roar and a violent shove jarred her back into awareness, as Sloth pushed past her. One heavy paw smack splattered the quivering rage demon into a million puddles, which sank into the Fadescape. Sloth snorted, apparently satisfied. "I believe that is what I owed you, mortal. Though you were doing fine on your own, there, at the end; perhaps that is not all you were owed."

She gaped at him like a fish, trying to understand. Part of her, the part not busy being relieved and grateful, wanted to shake the demon for interrupting her. Solona hadn't known _what_ she was doing, but she had wanted to finish and find out! But for now, she had survived, and perhaps it was best not to complain to the bear in front of her of lost chances.

"You forget your place, Sloth!" It was Mouse, but suddenly he was decidedly _not Mouse_, and enormous, and his presence hit her so violently she nearly collapsed. As it was, she leaned against Sloth, who snorted in amusement. "She would have failed her Harrowing! Her stupidity, her weakness, her lack of foresight, her careless trust! You have broken the agreement we made before and destroyed _everything—_"

Solona felt she might throw up. A demon of pride, the king of demons, the most powerful…It felt like a wave of bricks and lead, a hundred timpanis vibrating through her core in the wrong key. It could squash Sloth with barely a thought, yet the demon next to her, supporting her, scoffed.

"You give such speeches about _preconceptions_, yet when yours are broken, you throw a tantrum. It's quite…bothersome." It yawned, stretching almost like a cat. "The mortal has won. We cannot hurt her now."

"_You_ won it for her. That is hardly—"

"And all those times you have been the ally, it has been quite different, I suppose." Sloth smacked its lips sarcastically. "Come, mortal. Pride cannot harm you and is well aware. We have things to speak of."

"I…I should not converse with…" Sol stuttered out. This could be the true test, this could be where she failed. She couldn't let her guard down.

"You will awaken in time, mortal, and I have a debt to repay to you. We can speak, if you wish, in sight of Valor, and he will ensure I am to keep my word." Sloth grumbled, turning away, walking away from Pride. She swallowed, following. "I have things to teach you."

"I will not learn blood magic!" Sol felt ashamed of her screeching voice as soon as Sloth winced.

"I am not teaching you blood magic. It is…" it looked over its shoulder at the fuming, but stationary, Pride, "…against the rules, as it were. Come. We have only a little time."

Mutely, Sol kept pace with the bear-demon, feeling sick to her stomach. When, when would she wake up?

* * *

"She…passes." Irving said, finally. Cullen heard the confusion, the concern in his voice, as if he was reading a letter no one else could see as he observed Sol's suddenly still, peaceful slumber. "Solona Amell has been Harrowed."

The templars all sheathed their swords. It had been quite a long Harrowing, and they were tired. It was late into the night, far later than most, and constant tense vigil drained the best of men. Even Greagoir, who had been to hundreds, if not a thousand Harrowings, looked…tired, and disturbed. Irving was not quite himself.

Cullen was relieved. He had still never had to execute a mage. He had never seen an abomination, and he never had to kill someone he had otherwise sworn to protect. Maker forgive him, but he hoped to never have to fulfill that particular part of his vows.

"Take her back to her bed in the apprentice quarters, Ser Cullen." The knight-commander ordered. This was routine; Cullen was always chosen to struggle down flights of stairs with a slumbering mage, mostly because he was a decent person and would do his best not to smack their head on anything along the way. He bowed, gathered her up with the assistance of a fellow templar, and began the trek down the many flights of stairs that led to the apprentice dormitories.

Solona was not the easiest to carry; she was only half a head shorter than him, with the longest legs in the world. She was also a little curvy; there was nowhere for exercise inside the mage's tower, and though she wasn't _fat_ by any means, she likely couldn't run farther than around one floor before being winded. And her damnable wavy hair was tickling his throat.

The easiest way to carry her would have been over his shoulder, but he objected to carrying even the male mages like sacks of potatoes (rumor mill about his preferences after that _one time_ be damned). So he was attempting to cradle her, aware of how uncomfortable being held by gauntlets against a plate chest likely was.

It was slow going, trying to get down all the stairs, though templars on duty often helped him, either by holding a door or holding her by the shoulders so they could back down. Most who worked directly with the mages tended to be good sorts, though Cullen nearly decked a man who made jokes and gestures about dropping her.

Finally, she was in her bed, and Cullen managed to extricate himself from a rather awkward, tight grip that had latched onto a joint in his armor without breaking or severing her fingers. He felt poorly about that, in particular; she made a sound almost akin to a whimper when he removed himself, and slowly curled into a ball of what could only be misery. Poor thing.

He sighed, excused himself to the apprentices he'd startled awake, covered her with her blanket, and left. Solona would wake up in the morning and go back to being her calm, unassuming self, and perhaps he would even see her more often, since she would move upstairs. As it was, his cot was calling his name and he desperately needed to be out of his armor and asleep. He had another guard detail in eight hours.

* * *

  
_Thanks everyone for reading! I'm doing my best, but criticism is always welcome. :) I think we'll be seeing Surana in the next chapter, possibly, though I haven't entirely pinned down how I wish her to behave. It's going to get interesting, certainly!_


	4. Somewhere to Be

_I played around a bit with the Tower layout, because honestly the one in the game is much too small to accurately depict that huge thing they show in pictures. For gameplay, I'm glad it's as few as it is; story-wise, it needs to be more (and it seems unlikely to me that they would put the apprentice quarters directly on the first floor). I hope you enjoy! There's no Surana yet, but soon. SOON.

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_

Solona blinked awake in a sort of drugged stupor, disoriented and unsettled, and quite unsure why she could see stone ceiling above her rather than the wooden slats of a top bunk above her head. She felt lighter, as well, and it took a moment to realize that she wasn't in her thick apprentice robes, but rather in a white linen shift, covered in carefully starched sheets and untouched by any sort of enchantment.

Slowly, she sat up and looked around. It was dark, probably night time, with no lights still on except for faint, flickering candles on high ledges. She could see rows of beds next to her, most empty; she was in the infirmary, and it must be after hours. There were no mages going down the aisles, casting spells or checking patients, so it had to be late.

Her head feeling decidedly mucked over with cobwebs, Sol slid her legs over the side of the bed and stood, wobbling for a moment. She was terribly thirsty and hungry, and she quickly, quietly downed a glass of water and a bowl of broth that seemed to have been left, forgotten, by her bedside; both tepid and only appetizing because she was _famished_. That done, she decided quite suddenly that it was time she needed to be in her own bed. After all, nothing was wrong with her, so she certainly did not need to be in the infirmary.

Shuffling her bare feet across the cold stone, she paused by the door. Certainly the templars would be out patrolling, as they always were, and she would be in quite a bit of trouble for being out and about after curfew. Catching her in a shift and not in mage robes would have all sorts of questions asked and she would be sent back here and they would wake someone up, possibly _Wynne_…

No, not Wynne. Wynne went to Ostagar, with the king's army. Someone likely less motherly than Wynne, then, probably. No, best to avoid the templars, at least for her infirmary exit. But how? One look at the shift she wore and they would march her straight back here, to the bed that wasn't hers.

Going back to her assigned cot, she searched dumbly for a moment, finally finding her apprentice robes, neatly folded up in the drawer beside it. Struggling to put them on, she found them somewhat looser than before, despite not having taken the shift off first. Odd. Perhaps she had grabbed someone else's by mistake. No matter; she could return it in the morning. She simply wanted to get to her actual bed.

Or was there something else important she needed to do?

Solona ambled over to the door, of the infirmary, peeking out before quickly hopping through and shutting it quietly behind her. Now, if she could just find a templar she could explain that she just wanted to get back to the apprentice dormitory. They would grumble and admonish her for being out so late and she would apologize and get an escort up the stairs. No problem.

Ah, there was one!

"What are you doing out of your bed?" The templar asked, irritated. He was guarding the stairs, with a partner. She didn't know them, or at least, she thought she didn't. Hard to tell with those helmets on, certainly.

"I lost track of time." Sol replied. It was the age-old response, and certainly she would probably be in trouble for it, but it was her first offense. The templar grumbled, motioning to his partner.

"I'll take her to the dormitories." His partner nodded, and Solona felt a sort of small satisfaction. Things going according to plan, what a nice concept. It certainly helped the muzziness in her head clear just a bit.

She followed behind the templar complacently, up to the apprentice dormitories, blearily rubbing her eyes. It wasn't really clear why she had _needed_ to leave the infirmary, other than that she had a reason. Perhaps she would remember when she got to her bed.

Only, once she was brought into the dormitories by the impatient templar, it seemed there was someone else in there. Under her sheets, napping away, careless as could be.

"But…" Sol simply stammered, weaving around. "I don't…where's my…?" Before a heavy gauntlet could crash down on her shoulder and restrain her, she began weaving through the beds, always turning up back at the one that _should_ be hers but that someone else was sleeping in. And she was waking up other apprentices, grumbling and rolling over in their beds while she kept up her confused, erratic mantra.

"All right, that's enough." The templar had managed to clap her wrist in his tight grip, and he hauled her out of the dormitories. Swearing something rather un-templar-like, the two began an interesting jaunt down the hall. Confused and more than a little sore from how he was jerking her along, she nevertheless followed as best she was able. What was going on?

And then he was talking to another templar, and saying, "Look, I have to get back to my post. Can you deal with her?" and then there was a different gauntlet around her other wrist and she was pulled up another set of stairs, and passed off again.

Just as she was beginning to feel very much like an abused sack of grain, a rather gentle (if still metal and heavy) hand descended on her shoulder, and she found herself looking at a familiar face. Ah, Cullen. He was very nice. He would help sort this mess out and figure out why someone else was sleeping in _her_ bed.

She gave him a smile, secure that he would sort things out for her.

* * *

Cullen had been repeating the Canticle of Trials to stay awake when Ser Tam had brought Solona up and passed her off to him with a story about being out after curfew and not having a bed to sleep in, and could he please take care of this since he was on the First Enchanter's floor and Tam really needed to get back to his post. Cullen had agreed immediately, though there was little choice in the matter; that was simply how things got done at night. No one felt comfortable leaving their partner alone for too long.

He almost didn't recognize her at first. She had lost weight, certainly, and her appearance was much more rumpled than she usually allowed. It was more her expression, really, that caught him by surprise; it was sleepy, but open, with green eyes half lidded, a hopeful-yet-lost-and-a-little-confused smile displayed openly. She had looked at him with something like surprise, recognition and happiness when he'd accepted her as his charge, waiting patiently for him to take care of the problem, take care of her.

It was unsettling on her to even _see _emotion, to be sure.

Cullen took her a little ways down the hall, towards Irving's room, though when they rounded the curve away from his partner he slowed down. "What are you doing out of bed?" He spoke, low and quiet.

"I was in the infirmary." She responded, almost dreamily, as if this answered the question.

"You were there for a _reason_—" he started, attempting to explain. She cut him off with a shake of her head.

"No, I needed to go somewhere else."

"Somewhere…else?" Cullen was confused, mirroring the expression on her face. "Where?"

"I thought it was my bed." She said, sadly, frowning. "Why is there someone in my bed?"

_I need to take her back to the infirmary. She's delirious._ Cullen groaned inwardly. He would have to play 'pass-the-mage' back the other way, it would seem. He tried to turn her around, but she kept walking past him.

"So-…er, Amell." He called, and she stopped, turning back. Templars were not supposed to use first names; it's too personal. His almost slip-up did not seem to be the focus of her attention, however.

"Aren't you coming?" She tilted her head to the side, tousled red waves falling haphazardly in front of her face.

"Amell, you need to go back to the infirmary." Cullen repeated.

"I'm not sick, though. A little hungry, maybe. I have to _be_ somewhere." She nodded as if to herself. "And it can't be my bed, because it's not my bed anymore, I guess. So maybe it's here?"

"Do you even remember what happened before you went to sleep?" He asked, frustrated with her behavior. Why now, of all times, would she decide to be willful?

"I…" She started, then paused. "I…was talking to Anders and he said…something about you, I think?" It was Cullen's turn to be confused, even as her brow furrowed in concentration and she continued. "And then you were there and then…the…_Harrowing_."

The last word came out in such a wounded, angry hiss that Cullen startled, utterly unprepared for the vehemence laden into the sentiment. She was _furious_, and she was suddenly vibrating with enough magic to bring every templar on the floor running, if not the other floors. He almost smote her reflexively, only his disbelief reigning him in.

And then she was storming, almost literally, down the hall, crackles of electricity on her skin, arcing off and across her. He had never seen her lose control. He didn't think anyone in the Tower had, and it was somewhat frightening.

Only _somewhat_, however, because she quickly fell to her knees, painfully, the magic fading from her in a rush as her malnourished body refused to put up with the strain. Cullen marched quickly forward, his plate rattling together, as he stooped to hold her upright. She was _shaking_, and she glared at him, incensed.

"Wh-what is wrong with m-me?" She demanded. He almost laughed at the ridiculousness of the situation. Almost.

"You don't realize you've been out for nearly a week, do you?" Cullen breathed, uncomfortable in the position. Templar armor was not designed for supporting another, merely for deflecting blows. "You've barely come around for water and broth here and there."

"I…what? N-no, that's not right." Sol gripped his pauldrons, trying to haul herself up and failing. "I-it couldn't have been…"

But there were suddenly templars around them, demanding to know what had happened, and Greagoir was among them and realized who Cullen was supporting. He dismissed them, all except Cullen and the still-confused-but-angry Solona who was more exhausted than someone who had slept for a week should probably be.

"Mage Amell. Any longer and we would have given up on you." Greagoir's dry tone was far from welcoming. Solona glared half-heartedly at him, still trying to push herself up with Cullen as her crutch. "I doubt that you are in any real condition to be running about at present. Since it would only serve to harm you further to ferry you back down the stairs, you'll simply have to go to your new room. I will take her," he said, addressing Cullen and leaning forward to pick up the weak-limbed mage as one might a rag doll, "and you will go to fetch a healer."

Cullen turned to do as he was told, somehow managing to hide the surprise on his face as Solona smacked her weak little fists twice, ineffectually, against the Knight Commander's breastplate.

* * *

Solona felt it quite unfair that he would simply _dump_ her in her bed, this bed she didn't recognize because it really wasn't her bed, not yet. She'd never slept in it. She half-glared at the knight commander in what she hoped was something baleful but probably did not manage it very well, what with being hunger-addled. He certainly sighed at her in an unimpressed tone.

"Mage Amell, you are the last one I would have expected to throw a _tantrum_ in the hallway, especially not in your current state." Greagoir said, not angry, but certainly chastising her. "And so soon after your Harrowing?"

She refused to speak to him. She did not know if he knew what went on during a Harrowing, but she would not give him the satisfaction of dissembling a half-cocked rant that wasn't even _for_ him. She wanted to save her strength and anger for Irving, and Greagoir would only _warn_ the bastard what it was that had her discharging electricity like a spontaneously manifesting five year old.

The knight commander sighed again, rubbing his temples. "Very well, then, if that is how you wish to be. Just so you are aware, if you go down the hallway _sparking_ like that again, there will be no recourse but to drain your magic. Do you understand?"

Solona nodded, curtly, aware she was acting about five years old, with her arms crossed and her body turned away. She was _pouting_, but she didn't have the energy to be a mature adult at this point. With another damnable sigh, Greagoir turned and left, leaving her in the questionable privacy of her new, foreign room, which had three and a quarter walls, no door, and a bed that smelled like dust.


	5. How It Has Always Been

_Thank you everyone who reads, reviews, or simply follows my story/ies. It's greatly appreciated, you have no idea! And look, there's Surana in this one. A special __**surprise**__ Surana!

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_

Solona stalked down the hallway two days later, finally feeling well enough to manage without falling over, and calm enough not to spark at random intervals. She was still rather angry, but she'd managed to temper it, and rehearse her speech (_not_ a tirade, just a _speech_). If the templars exchanged meaningful glances with each other after she passed, she paid them no attention. They had no reason to smite her at present, and she wouldn't give them one.

She was upset, but not _stupid_, and definitely not delirious anymore.

Irving had wanted to see her as soon as she was well enough to make the trip on her own, anyway, so no one stopped her as she headed directly to his study. If he was not there, then she would simply wait unless directed otherwise. She schooled her face carefully; there was no reason to simply give away her intent to be combative as soon as she walked in.

When Solona reached the study, however, she found the door shut, emanating with the low hum of a stern lecture being carried out. Irritated, she had no recourse but to wait until whatever delinquents inside were finished with their dressing-down before she could launch into her own. Leaning against the wall, arms crossed, she played with her hair distractedly, annoyed that it had chosen today to remain obstinately disheveled.

It was perhaps five minutes later that the door swung open and a pair of elves exited, their eyes only briefly sliding over her with disregard. Of course, it was Alim and Neria Surana, the Terror Twins. Where Alim defaulted to fire, Neria was ice, and the two together were impossible to manage. They were always together, when allowed, and they were masters of primal magic, for all that they had not been through the Harrowing yet. They were consummate troublemakers, incorrigible pranksters, and unabashed flirts. They did anything and everything in their power to make life in the Tower interesting…at least for themselves.

Sol could not know why they were in the First Enchanter's study, but the stench of spilled alcohol, the charred remnants of robe and icicles in their hair made it quite clear that they had likely messed with the Tranquil in order to procure spirits for themselves. Alim had lost most of his stunning white-blonde hair, though with Neria's flaringly red hair sheared jagged-short as well, that could have been from a prior incident. They preferred to look similar; exotic, near-identical, mysterious, _trouble_.

They strode down the hallway without a word to her, both pausing to blow the templar on duty—_poor Cullen_—a kiss. Irving's tired sigh startled Solona, who had been watching the twins curiously.

"I do not know what we are going to do with those two." Irving seemed conversational, almost cheerful. Had no one told him about her pitching a lightning fit two nights ago? "Come in, Solona. I think we have a lot to discuss."

She followed him in, swallowing the sudden apprehension she felt. _Irving_ was the one who would be chastised here, not her.

"Let me start by congratulating you on your successful Harrowing. I must admit, you had us worried. It was…certainly unconventional, and you took a rather long time to wake up." Irving settled behind his desk, gesturing her to a seat. She took it, waiting patiently for him to continue. "But now you are moved into the mage's quarters, and I will issue you your mage robes and staff. I hope you will continue your studies and eventually take on apprentices yourself. Currently, I know you have no real focus or obvious strengths in magic, but with time I hope you will discover them. You have a disposition well-suited for teaching; it would be a shame to waste that."

He was smiling at her, fatherly, and she almost felt bad about the poor feelings she had coiled up inside, waiting to strike. Almost. He did send her to fight demons.

"First Enchanter…" Solona started. He raised an eyebrow, interested.

"Yes, child?"

"How can you do this? To us, to everyone?" She started slow, calmly, politely, inquiring as if she was asking about the weather. "The Harrowing, I mean."

"Ah. Was this what caused you to become so upset the other night?" Irving asked, steepling his fingers together, elbows on the desk. "It was most out of character for you, or so I am told."

"I don't see how the test is at all…appropriate." Solona continued on, reminding herself of her prepared words, keeping her expression neutral. "The demons seemed as if…they were under contract, or oath, to play through a charade. How is that any different than what we as mages are told to avoid, lest a templar strikes us down as maleficar? Consorting with demons?"

Irving sighed, like one who had heard the argument many times before. Sol knew she could not have been the only mage to every be appalled by the Harrowing, but certainly _she_ could do something about it, see some failing in the defense for it, that others could not over the years.

"The templars, or at least the Knight Commander and his second, are aware of the full process of the Harrowing. The…scenario…you entered was simply one of many. These have existed for centuries, long before you or I even came to the Tower." Irving replied simply, succinctly. "Without the Harrowing, we would not be allowed to exist, even here."

"Then why can't we prepare for it? We have basic instruction on demons, certainly, but nowhere near enough to give us a true fighting chance. How many die to the Harrowing?" Sol was struggling to retain her composure, keep herself even, amenable. "You don't send a soldier to battle with his only instruction being 'don't hold the pointy end, don't stab yourself.'" It was difficult to not sound sarcastic or bitter. "It sounds more like a Culling, than a Harrowing."

"Now, child, how would we go about doing such? We cannot summon demons into the Tower to show apprentices how they might tempt them. Trying to have instruction in the Fade would be disastrous should we attract the attention of too many or too powerful of demons. This is, simply, the best and only way." Irving frowned, and she could see it was sad. She felt an unconscious part of herself soften to it, to his predicament. Being angry was hard for her. "I wish it were not so."

"I…cannot accept that." Solona sighed. "I understand why it is done, but I don't think it's right, nor can it possibly be the best way. I'll…I'll have to think on it."

"I'm sorry, truly. I understand that you had a rather difficult time in there; in all honesty, you were in there for perhaps the longest time of any apprentice who did not become possessed. I was rather worried about you. And then, when you did not wake up…well, it was troubling." Irving smiled at her, and she knew he wasn't lying. He _had_ been worried about her. It made her feel a little guilty. But…only a little. He had sent her to fight or die, and even if it pained him, it was hard to feel badly for someone who would have watched a templar remove her head.

"I don't know why I didn't wake up the next morning. It did not feel as if I was in the Fade for a week." Sol answered, honestly. Irving nodded.

"Time in the Fade moves differently, just as dreams can pass the hours of the night away in a moment. I would hope, however," and then it was that he fixed her with a discerning stare, "that you would inform me should anything have happened while you were there for so long."

It was then that she gave thanks for all her practice pretending calmness all those years. "Nothing, First Enchanter." For, really, nothing _had_ happened.

Just a little chat with Sloth, but she could barely remember it, anyway. That was nothing, right?

"I trust you, Solona. All the same, please try to be a little more…careful with your sleeping habits, and stay out of trouble. You being out for so long after your Harrowing, and then waking to act quite unlike yourself, made Greagoir a trifle nervous." Irving's smile was grim. "Best to keep your head down for a little while."

Sol tensed, but nodded. She had _never_ had templars breathing down her neck before. The thought that the Knight Commander _himself_ was worried about her was quite a sobering shock.

"You're a good girl, Solona. I know this will all settle down soon. Now, I have to prepare for a lecture, so I will have to ask you to excuse me." Summarily dismissed, Solona gave him a quick head-nod of respect, and left the office, perhaps a little quicker than she meant to. If the worry showed on her face, it was purely accidental.

* * *

Cullen had watched the Twins go with a mixture of embarrassment, disapproval, and amusement, torn between the fact that Neria, _Neria_, had blown him a kiss, and that her brother had as well. He enjoyed her attention, certainly, but Alim's was…not as welcome. He could perhaps entertain thoughts that she found him at all interesting if perhaps she had noticed him while alone, maybe given him a little smile. But with her brother, it was clear it was just to torment him. She _enjoyed_ the rumor mill.

He struggled to control his flaming cheeks, even as he knew there was nothing for it. She was so impishly provocative, with her now-messy short crimson hair, feral green eyes, and delicate elven fierceness. He could imagine how easy it would be to lift her up; she was such a small thing. _Lift her up so she was on eye-level…no bending in plate armor to catch her mouth and…_ He shook his head, fiercely. That would do nothing to diminish the blush on his face. Reflexively, he began forcing himself to mentally recite the Chant, the exercise diverting his attention sufficiently to diminish his embarrassment.

It was not too long after when Solona came down the hall, and her sidelong, almost-nervous glance at him was almost jarring. He didn't like how she had changed so quickly after her Harrowing. He could _tell_, after so many years of watching, and polite, pointless (dull) conversation, that she was different. Ruffled, unsettled, _twitchy_.

Cullen knew of some apprentices who were sick for weeks after, or who became depressed, or angry. It was a common enough occurrence after the Harrowing that he really shouldn't be surprised that even the unflappable Solona was behaving oddly. But, he was. She just wasn't ever anything _but_ calm and collected. To have her be tied up in knots, even after barely waking for a week, just didn't sit well with him.

Frowning, he watched her vanish, a little too quickly, around the corner to her bedroom. Maybe he could ask her later, if she passed by. Yet, for some reason, the prospect of talking to her made him uncomfortable. Still, even if she wasn't a _friend_, they were _friendly_, and he felt maybe he should do something to help her feel better.

And the sooner she stopped acting queer, the sooner he could forget that Greagoir had told all the templars on the floor that, if under any circumstances she went off again as she had when she had first woken up, they were to smite her immediately. No questions, no talking down, simply suck the magic from her body and march her directly to his office. It was too much to take, really, that the templars would be on alert for her, as if she would ever step so far out of line again without being delirious.

The mere thought of it was ridiculous, really.

He shifted slightly in his armor. Later, there was to be another Harrowing, and he would attend this one, as well. He prayed to the Maker that his luck continued to hold.

* * *

_Reminder: I like complicated relationships, so we're not starting off with Cullen and Amell drooling over each other. I think that's boring and much prefer complicated relationships. Woo!_

_I'll be updating this a little faster than 'Kicking and Screaming' since I'll soon be getting to the Tower there, as well. And since these are partner fics, having them __**too**__ out of sync may not be the best thing (but it certainly wouldn't be __**bad**__). Anyway, I'll get the next chapter up post-haste! It has **action**! And **Jowan**!  
_


	6. Lyrium Sings

There was still plenty of unpacking to do, or at least more unpacking than Solona had ever had to do in her life. Apprentices did not accrue a lot of "things," what with having limited storage space and no real ability to go shopping, as it was. Still, she had managed to gather more than most by digging in places no one cared to dig into anymore, and keeping things no one thought were worth it anymore. And the journals.

Apprentices and mages alike were encouraged to write, to research, to question. It was the only thing to _do_ in the Tower. Everyone received a new one as soon as the old were filled, and you were _expected_ to fill them. Notes from classes, your own muses, scribbles or practices, everything had to go down in a notebook. It just wasn't acceptable to not go through at least one of the thickly bound, heavy things every few months.

Sol had quite a collection of uselessly drabbled-in ones.

She placed them to the side, at the end of the bed, a haphazard pyramid of parchment, and went through the remainder of her trunk. Apprentice robes (these would have to be re-enchanted, or perhaps passed down to another apprentice…), various cowls, a crude wooden flute she had hand-carved (it didn't play), a feather, a thick blanket and then…

She almost dropped the precious vials full of slippery, softly-glowing blue liquid, in surprise.

_"Lyrium _sings_, you know."Sloth snuffled in his slow, plodding cadence. "It has a pulse, a tune. It is louder in the mortal realm, or so I'm told. Interesting that mortals only ever hear its voice in the Fade."_

It was quiet, muted, and more like a vibration than a song, but she could feel it. Why could she feel it now, and never before? Was it simply knowing that allowed her to hear it? Or perhaps being in the Fade, and touching that demon in such an incorporeal way had…affected her. Or maybe she was just going insane. She could barely remember what Sloth had talked about; even if it was true, and lyrium _did _sing, and that's what this vibration was…why did it matter? What could it do?

She carefully unpacked each different vial in turn, feeling the difference. They were all vibrating, the larger ones almost humming, but she didn't know what it meant, if it meant anything. Setting up the stand, she rested them in it on the vanity across from her bed, pausing a moment to frown balefully at the mess of her hair. Perhaps she should unpack a _brush_, since she knew what to do with _that_.

It was only moments after she had seated herself on the still-unfamiliar bed, a lyrium potion in her lap, and had started dragging the bristles through her messy waves when the entryway to her room was blocked by a familiar body. The quickness at which her mask clicked into place could have been magical in itself. Jowan wasn't looking, anyway, glancing around in his nervous, twitchy way.

"So, you're Harrowed, and you're actually well now." He breathed, finally facing her. "Had all of us worried that, well…"

"All of 'us'?" Sol's brow furrowed only slightly. The mage had many acquaintances, but few friends, in the Tower.

"_I_ was worried about you. They were saying such…terrible things about you." Jowan shuddered. "Some of the templars were hoping you would be made Tranquil even if you really were Harrowed. They weren't convinced it was true, since you would barely wake up…"

Solona had found it easy, before the Harrowing, to maintain at the very least an outward calm, if not an inner peace. Now it was even more difficult to do that, with it sinking in how utterly _bizarre_ her reaction to the Harrowing had been. And if they knew what she had been doing, even under Valor's watchful eye…

Maker, _she_ didn't even know what she had been doing. Something with lyrium, and that humming, vibrating it was doing now, supposedly. She desperately wanted to remember.

"Well, they can't. It's not allowed." She tried to say this as if it didn't bother her. Jowan, at least, was fooled.

"You're lucky." He settled onto the bed, fingers twitching and flexing into the covers. "Do you like sleeping by yourself?" He suddenly shifted the conversation, adding, "I mean, you have your own room. Isn't it weird?"

"It is." She agreed, looking around. "I've been in those communal bunk rooms since I was three, and I think before that I shared a room with…someone. I don't remember." She frowned, ever so slightly. "So at least seventeen years of bunk beds and no privacy and now…"

"Lonely?" Jowan asked, grinning just a little at her.

"You wouldn't think I could be, but I am. At least, it's rather unsettlingly quiet at night." Sol concurred. She hadn't slept very well since she woke up from the week, and always in fits and spurts.

"I'm sure you'll get used to it. And now you can do whatever you want!" They both knew that 'whatever you want' had a much more restrictive meaning for mages. She gave a short laugh, startling him. But not enough to forestall his next question. "So what's the Harrowing like?"

She stared at him. "I…I know you're not supposed to tell, and I know you're the last person I'd expect to go against the Circle…" She winced inwardly. _That_ stung. "…but when they call me for mine, I don't want—"

"They send you into the Fade to face demons and spirits." She cut him off, decisively, and more than a little angrily. He was surprised again, maybe from the tone of her voice, or that she had actually decided to answer his question. "The one I faced was Rage, but there was Sloth and Pride there, too."

"By the Maker, _Pride_?" Jowan hissed, quiet. "No wonder so many die…"

"It's…not simple. And I don't think it's the same every time." Sol murmured.

"Thanks for telling me all the same." Jowan swooped her into a tight hug, and she stiffened in surprise. They didn't hug. And the humming from the potion in her lap had gone all weird, louder but disjointed, as if there were two different songs. "I have to go tell Li…er, I have to…go." He sheepishly ducked out of the room, leaving a blinking, confused Sol in his wake. What had just happened?

* * *

Niall wasn't certain if this was appropriate of him. Certainly, he could have better timing than only a few days after she'd woken up from her arguably-successful Harrowing. If he waited too long, however, he would lose his nerve. And here she was in the library, just staring at a shelf with a blank look on her face.

It was kind of adorable, in a lost puppy sort of way.

Clutching the book he held tightly, making certain no papers were falling from the musty old thing, he cleared his throat and stepped forward behind her. She turned, calmly, locking eyes with him. He saw her brow furrow slightly, possibly wondering where she knew him from. She didn't know him, and it made him feel slightly creepy.

Oh well. One has to start somewhere.

"I'm Niall," He offered, quietly. She gave him a miniature smile, almost like a reflexive twitch.

"Solona."

"Yes, everyone's been talking about you since, well…your interesting Harrowing." The smile disappeared, and Niall realized that was probably not the best way to start off the conversation. "Er, anyway…I thought I would bring you this as a sort of congratulations. I'd heard about how you like music and that sort of thing, and I found these a long while ago…" He brought forward the disheveled, falling-apart tome, one of the askew pages hinting at a few bars of music.

If he hadn't been looking for a reaction so closely, he probably would have missed the way her eyes grew just a little wider, and her mouth twitched back into the smile. So it had been a good choice, thank the Maker.

"How did you know?" She asked, quietly, coming forward to accept the item from his hands. He went sheepish.

"Er…well, you know how the rumor mill here goes. And it's not often an apprentice attempts to bribe a Tranquil to procure her a violin." Niall watched her open the book, carefully rearranging the pages and re-orienting them.

She laughed, just a small, short sound, and he almost thought he imagined it. "Thank you, Niall. This is…well, the nicest present I've ever received." Her smile had grown slightly, but then she seemed to stall.

He realized she didn't know what else to say. "How are you settling in?"

"Well enough." She said easily. Maker, trying to get the woman to talk was a chore. She needed to learn how to converse.

"Did Irving say when you would be getting an apprentice?" Niall felt awkward, as if maybe she would prefer him gone. But she made no indication that he was bothering her.

"I am too scattered in my knowledge to be much use at the moment. Irving would prefer I specialize in something." Solona's small smile turned down at one corner, her feelings on the news mixed. "He thinks I would make a good teacher, if I had something to teach."

"I would be glad to help, if you were considering wards or glyphs, or litanies. I'm quite proficient in that area." He offered, almost too quickly. Overplaying his hand, maybe?

"I am not sure yet what I want to do." Solona didn't seem put off by him, at least, even if she hadn't jumped on the chance. Niall couldn't imagine her 'jumping' or making really any sudden movements. "But, thank you. Wouldn't your apprentices miss you if you were to spend time teaching me?"

_You're a far sight prettier to look at than _him_._ Niall's traitorous thoughts managed not to persuade his tongue to say that rather damning sentence. "It could always be done in the evenings, or at least talk about theory over dinner. Much of what I do can be scribbled down on paper in legitimate practice, without the need to reserve special rooms like the Primal casters."

She blinked at him. "You want to sit with me at meal times?"

"Er, well…" Niall was confused. Was that strange? "…Yes."

"I…yes, if you want to help me with glyphs in the evenings, I would appreciate it." She closed the book, suddenly rather interested in getting it in order. "Thank you, Niall."

"It's no trouble." He confirmed.

"I'll look for you at dinner tonight, then." Solona swallowed, then made the most awkwardly smooth exit Niall had ever seen.

When she was gone, he laughed like a relieved fool. She hadn't turned him down, at least. It was possibly the most difficult time he'd ever had talking to a woman who hadn't rejected him. It certainly wouldn't be easy to talk with her, seeing how well she did with short conversation, but maybe she would open up in time.

And what they had an abundance of in the Tower was _time_. Not like anyone was going anywhere.

* * *

Cullen waited, his sword over Alim Surana's body, watching for the signal from Greagoir. He wasn't even worried; Alim was a strong mage, with a good head on his shoulders. He would pass the Harrowing in record time, and tomorrow Neria would as well. This Harrowing was much more relaxed than the other.

Until Irving flinched, Greagoir sighed and Alim's body _twitched_. The elf's eyes opened, and a voice that was not Alim's spoke, coldly. _"He fell to Pride."_

The Knight Commander gave the signal, and Cullen, bracing himself, did his duty. He let the sword fall.

* * *

_Dun dun dun! I always thought Niall was adorable and huggable. So here he is, and awww he has a thing for Amell (if that wasn't clear). What will become of everyone? Tune in next time to find out!_


	7. Rumors and Chaos

Sol did not usually listen in on gossip. Even when it had been about her and Cullen, she learned about it two weeks later, completely on accident, since everyone, including Jowan, thought she knew about it already. It was exceedingly odd for her that she heard the two newest ones the next morning, apparently as soon as they began, and one didn't even involve her.

The first was that she and Niall were _involved_, for certainly the two had seemed cozy at dinner. Some claimed they were pressed so close together that they had difficulty actually eating. Others claimed they certainly had ducked into the private sections of the library later for a 'special' rendezvous, and had three witnesses who were totally there to see them do it.

This eventually extrapolated to include her odd Harrowing, claiming that Niall had used some sort of influence to keep the Templars from outright executing her when she didn't wake up, and that she wasn't really Harrowed. Niall was also possibly a romantic, dashing figure who had found her in the Fade and helped her to wake up by telling her how he was in love with her, just like a fairytale. This all occurred between waking and breakfast, and somehow Solona heard them all.

Breakfast, however, was populated by the second, much darker rumor. Alim had been taken for his Harrowing the night before, and he had failed.

Neria's red-eyed, miserably quiet demeanor seemed to prove it, if the empty space at her side wasn't enough. She snapped angrily at anyone who approached her, and she didn't eat, simply sitting at her place for a few minutes, staring at the table, before storming out. It made everyone especially uneasy. Alim had been an excellent and talented apprentice; what could the Harrowing entail if one such as Solona, who was considered rather mediocre, could prevail, and he would die?

Solona didn't miss the haunted, accusing look Neria shot her way, though she wished she had. What was she supposed to _do_, really? How was it her fault?

Maybe something had gone wrong, though. Perhaps she had messed up the Harrowing somehow, messed up the delicate set up that the demons and the mages and spirits had in place for centuries. That didn't make sense, though. Surely, she couldn't be the first to do things in an odd, awkward way? Maybe the first to teach Sloth a lullaby, but that couldn't really mean anything…or was music rather important, because lyrium can sing? But it wasn't singing, it was humming, or just vibrating a little, which wasn't the same, was it?

Maker, this made her head hurt. She had slumped down in the library, head against the tabletop, exasperated. Too much didn't make sense to worry about rumors or an apprentice (who in all likelihood was a stronger mage than her) that was mad at her for something she couldn't control. _Augh_, when did life get so damn _complicated_? She'd worked to keep this from happening to her! It was all a huge accident, a giant misunderstanding, a stupid—

"Solona? Are you all right?" She brought her head up, confused. Who…? Oh. Niall stood there, with the most peculiar look on his face, as if this is the last thing he expected her to be doing. Which would make sense; she didn't usually lie in a heap in the middle of the library. It was a tad out of character.

"Er…yes." Solona gave him a sort-of smile. He didn't seem convinced.

"Are you upset about all the…er, rumors?" Sliding into a seat across from her, he looked rather sheepish. Why would he care about the rumors…?

Oh, wait. The first one was about _them_.

"Ah, well, not really." She wasn't looking at him, but at the table, so she managed to completely miss his surprised-hopeful expression. "I mean, it's not often I'm part of the rumor mill, but, well, it _has _happened before. Only so many people in the Tower, you know?" She looked back up at him again, now catching his rather crestfallen face. "Oh, did it…bother you?"

He seemed conflicted about that question. "Complicated answer." She waited, impassively, for him to continue. "I'm not really _bothered_ about the rumors so much as I, ah…" He rubbed the back of his neck. Was he embarrassed? "…well, that I hoped you wouldn't be put off by them."

"Put off? Put off of what?" Solona was honestly confused. Niall, for his part, laughed. It was a disbelieving sound.

"The idea of us being, well, an 'us.'" Niall half-frowned, a sort of puppyish, pleading expression to his face. Solona startled.

"I…I…" She had no response, and it didn't even occur to her that she looked rather dumb at the moment, mouth hanging slightly open, eyes wide. "We…just met, Niall."

"That doesn't mean we couldn't get to know each other." He said, almost too quickly. "It doesn't have to be complicated, or intense, or anything like that. I just…like you, and I want to see if there's something to that."

_It's not allowed. Relationships between mages are forbidden. Nothing will ever come of it. I hardly know you. Why do you even like me?_ _I don't think I could do a tryst in the corner. _"I think I would like that." Solona smiled at him, a real smile. Niall looked relieved, one hand running down his face.

"Maker, I'm glad that's over." He mumbled. "I thought for certain you'd shoot me down."

Solona bit her lip and clamped down on all her traitorous thoughts from before. Unfortunately, she had no idea what else to say. Niall, however, seemed to expect this. "I have to go work with my apprentice, but I'll see you again at dinner?"

She nodded. He got out of his seat and balked while walking beside her, as if he couldn't decide…and then grinned sheepishly again before walking out. A mage more experienced in these things than Solona would probably realize he had decided against kissing her. As it was, she merely thought him still flustered over the fact that she had consented.

* * *

Cullen still felt ill from the night before. He hadn't slept at all, and two baths had done nothing to make him feel as if the blood had washed away. Alim may have failed his Harrowing, and been possessed by a demon, but the templar had known him, seen him every day since he arrived at the Tower. It felt somewhat perverse to swing the sword down and simply…remove his head.

It had taken nearly every ounce of his templar training not to retch. He still wanted to.

And seeing Neria later had just been miserable. She couldn't know it was him, could she? That would probably be why he had been chosen to strike the killing blow, unless he was just being paranoid. How did everyone always seem to _know_ when he had more than just a passing fancy for a mage? The Maker needed to stop making pretty mages, or make more pretty Templars, because it was just ridiculous by now.

In fact, it was—

Then it was pain and shock and chaos.

* * *

Solona sat in her room, notebook open on her lap, small vial of lyrium in her non-writing hand. She'd already spilled ink on her sheets, but had managed to jot down the basics of what she could feel from the lyrium.

_Deep sound makes vibrations, shakes; lyrium just very deep?_

_More lyrium hums. Random tune._

_Distillation agent possible inhibitor_

_Can mages handle pure lyrium?_

_Speak to tranquil about small amount of pu_..._

Her quill streaked a black line across the page as she felt magic, strong, forceful magic, rip across her senses. She dropped her lyrium vial, which thankfully landed cushioned onto the bed, as she staggered to her feet toward the disturbance. No one used magic in the halls, and no one used _that_ kind of magic outside of special practice rooms, which were nowhere near the mage's living quarters.

Solona's specialty had always been the manipulation of mana, in limited ways. She could feel it, direct it, steal it from others and cancel theirs out. When she lived in the apprentice dorms, she'd had to request a room change away from the practice halls because she was so hyper aware of when other mages were casting. This sudden disturbance, after the relative three day peace she'd had since her Harrowing, was nearly unbalancing.

When she stepped into the hall, she felt the heat and crackle of lightning across her skin melding with the feel of mana use, and found the immediate culprit. Neria, livid with rage, was attacking a Templar, lightning lancing out, cooking him inside his armor. She was yelling something, too, but it was unintelligible over the din of her magic. It was so _loud_.

Solona didn't really think, couldn't think. For all intents and purposes, the mage was terrified. This was not regular. It just wasn't _done_. Neria would be killed, and all mages would be in trouble. What was she thinking, she was an apprentice, she shouldn't even be in this wing, why was she attacking the templar, oh Maker, it was probably about Alim, and she doesn't care anymore…

The templar was paralyzed from the electricity coursing through the metal of his armor, and Neria would not let up. Lightning lanced wildly away, striking the walls and floor, leaving smoking black marks. The templar probably couldn't be saved, not after all this, but Neria was going to rip the Fade apart if she kept going. And the mana in the air was almost _screaming_ at Solona.

She put out her hands and _dragged_ on Neria's mana. The elf shrieked at the sudden loss, even after the rapid drain of the lightning meant it was minimal. But it cut her off completely, sucking her dry.

So why was Solona still pulling in more?

Mana was in the air, in the craters on the wall, in the templar. She couldn't tell what she was doing, she couldn't stop. The mana was in front of her and she had to bring it back into order, because it was screeching in her head. Garbled, messy, completely out of sync, enriched with anger and wild with fury and shifting between boundaries…Solona needed it under control because it was hurting her.

She didn't feel when Neria launched her small, elven body into her own, clawing at her face viciously. She didn't hear the heavy pounding of templar boots, reinforcements finally on the scene. She didn't notice them pull her assailant away, or feel the blood on her face. The smite, the impact, and the sudden loss of the mana, both within her and without, she could recognize, before she crumpled to the floor from a vicious blow behind her head.

* * *

_Woooooooooo action. Everyone's in trouble! No magic in the hallways! To the principal's office! Or, well, perhaps the infirmary…_

_Thank you to everyone who reads and reviews. Trying to catch up with 'Kicking and Screaming'; curse my Warden going to the Tower first!_


	8. A New Proposition

"_Well, this is a surprise." Sloth looked much the same, but also different. Smoother, less diseased, without drooping eyes and sporting much more fur. Solona would not have recognized it, if it hadn't felt quite the same. Or close to it; even that sound was a little different._

_"Sloth?" She asked. It chuckled._

_"Yes, yes. It is me. What is interesting is that you are awake." It yawned. "Not a dreamer. Did they send you back into the fade?"_

_"Er…no. I was…I think they hit me in the head." Solona grumbled, peevishly. There was a dull ache there, even in the Fade, so it was likely true… Sloth snorted._

_"I don't believe that is how it works. But if you're here for now, then I suppose we may talk some more." Sloth settled onto its paws, looking up at her. "Make yourself comfortable."_

_She crossed her arms. "You're still a demon, Sloth." A wry smile quirked across her face. "Even if not all demons are _demons_."_

_"Clever. I, however, would be sorely missed were I gone, and hunted quite avidly. It is quite a difficult thing to bind a demon into a contract such as mine and Pride's." It flopped over on its side. "They will certainly expect a recently Harrowed mage to be the culprit."_

_Solona sighed, falling into a cross-legged position. "All right. So what do you want to talk about, and what am I going to owe you?"_

_Sloth smiled, an awkward expression for a bear-creature. "I would like another song."

* * *

_

Greagoir was at his wit's end. Neria had been clapped in anti-magic bracers and dumped into a cell, with strict orders to the guarding templar that she was not to be spoken to, touched or otherwise interacted with, more for her safety than theirs. The preparations for Tranquility would have to begin. It was a mercy, and too good for her, considering the shape Cullen was in.

Fried within an inch of his life, armor super-heated, Cullen was an ugly mess. The best healers in the Tower were working tirelessly to restore him to his proper self. The man was going to have scars, but it was a small mercy none would be on his face, and they were not too severe throughout. Without magic, he would have died. Even if he'd somehow managed to survive, he would have looked a twisted monster. Thanks to the mages, he would be back to normal in a few days, followed by a week of rest.

The other involved party, Solona, was where Greagoir was lost for the first time in a very long time. There were no witnesses save Cullen and Neria to what her role had been. Cullen likely had been unable to see due to twitching all over the hall, and Neria refused to speak. The Knight Commander was loathe to assume the new mage would have helped attack a templar, but she had been acting so strangely lately…

He sat next to Cullen's bed, watching the mages work, Solona out cold on another bed beside him. The blow to the back of her head had been highly unnecessary, and it seemed again she was refusing to wake. She wasn't asleep, she was merely unconscious, and was unresponsive to all healing magic. She seemed peaceful enough, which did nothing to put him at ease.

When mages acted out of sorts, bad things happened. The vagueness of 'bad things' only illustrated how unpredictable the outcome could be.

* * *

_"Lyrium sings, and therefore so does mana." Sloth continued, lazily tracing a claw over the ground._

_"It kind of…vibrates. Hums. That's not really _singing_." Sol frowned._

_"I do not know how you have lyrium in the mortal world. Is it in veins, such as these?" Sloth motioned to one next to him, large spires of lyrium glinting in the ambient light. "Does it sound as these do?"_

_Solona focused on them, attempting to 'hear' it over the Sloth's lullaby. "It's different. This is muted, but it _sounds_ like a song."_

_"I do not know. I have never been to your mortal world." Sloth grumbled, "And I cannot teach you more without knowing the problem. Bah."_

_Solona crossed her arms again, peevishly. "Maybe I can figure it out myself."_

_"Perhaps. It is possible." The demon yawned. "Though…there is another way…"_

_"Another way…?"_

_"If I could come to the mortal world, I could tell you the problem." Sloth watched her, carefully. "Not in a mage's body, of course; that is not allowed. And they would search the mages for me, and slay the mage responsible, killing me in the process. But…"_

_Solona bit her lip. This was a dangerous path. "But what?"_

_"…There _is_ another way."_

_She swallowed. No harm in hearing it out, right? "…I'm listening."

* * *

_

Cullen awoke to dull, aching pain in constant waves, and yet his first thought was _This is not as bad as I thought it would be._ He felt heavy, and realized he was naked, with cooling salves layered all over his skin, from his feet to his face. Opening his eyes seemed like a poor idea.

"Ah, you're awake." A smooth, male voice had noticed the change in his breathing, likely. Except it was probably a mage, not just a voice. "A very quick recovery, all things considered. Still, you will have to remain here for the time being." He heard robes rustle, and the feeling of hands checking some of the bandages. And then the cool taste of glass at his lips, followed by a light trickle of water.

"It would be best if you did not speak or open your eyes for now." The voice said, as he drank. "We will be sure to take care of everything. I will inform the Knight Commander that you have awakened, however. He is most worried about your condition."

At any other point it would have been rather terrifying for Cullen that Greagoir had taken an interest in him somehow. But now all he felt was relief, that someone cared, that he was likely not in trouble, and everything would be okay. There were perks to being constantly surrounded by mages; the healing was certainly the most appreciated, even if it was the one you wish you never had cause to utilize.

A light groan to his right had the male voice chuckling. "Seems our other sleeping beauty has come to."

"Wha…?" A light voice, adrift in confusion was Cullen's only clue to the owner.

"You're in the infirmary, Solona. Becoming a bit of a habit for you to show up here, and not wake up." The voice was amused. "Running us ragged trying to figure out what is wrong, and then you have the temerity to simply wake up on your own."

"I, uh…sorry?" Solona's voice mumbled. "I can go back—"

"No, no, you're to stay here as well. The Knight Commander wanted to know when both of you woke up. No wandering off." The male voice was kind, but stern, and Cullen heard the soft sound of someone readjusting their pillows and sheets. "I mean it. Stay."

"'Kay."

Then the voice departed with the soft sound of mage shoes, and the pair were left alone, or at least Cullen assumed alone. Why was Solona here again, anyway? What had happened to her?

* * *

It was difficult to tell who the man across from her was, as he was completely swathed in bandages. He was built thick, like a templar, however, and not at all as someone whose heaviest lifting was a particularly cumbersome tome. He was probably the templar that Neria had attacked. He would hopefully be all right, though being smothered in healing poultices wasn't usually the best sign in the world.

The heavy step of templar boots made her want to bury her face into her pillow. Instead, she yawned, and did her best to look bleary-eyed and confused. Greagoir did not look convinced. But he ignored her at first, going first to the wrapped templar.

"Can he speak?" Greagoir asked the mage Solona didn't recognize. He shook his head in a non-committal way.

"He should be able to, but it would be best for him if he did it as little as possible for a while."

"Very well. Ser Cullen," and Solona startled, realizing that she knew this poor man, "you are officially off-duty until such a time as the mages in the infirmary deem you fit to return. You will follow all their orders to the letter." Then his voice dropped, and he seemed rather…tired. "Take all the time you need."

And then he was turning to face her and she quailed slightly. "And Mage Amell? She is well?" He didn't talk to her, even though he was almost, _almost_, glaring at her.

"She's fine. All that was wrong was that she wouldn't wake up, and, well…" The mage gestured at her, flashing an apologetic look at Solona. "She's fine now."

"Very well. With me, then." He offered her his arm, and she reluctantly took it.

It felt odd to walk through the Tower in an infirmary shift and not her robes. Greagoir did not speak to her as they walked, but the pace was comfortable. It didn't feel like the walk of death, and she couldn't be made Tranquil, but that did nothing to make her any less nervous overall.

Finally, she was politely deposited in a chair opposite his desk and he stood behind it. She very quietly freaked out as he started to speak. "Explain to me what happened." No please, no preamble, no courtesies. Explain. Now.

"I was in my room when I felt the magic go off." Solona was proud of how she managed to keep the shakes from her voice. She wished they weren't in her hands. "It was weird, because no one uses magic in the hallway, and it was…uhm, _wild_, and _loud_—"

"Loud?" Greagoir raised an eyebrow. "How do you mean?"

"I guess that's, er…the closest I can get to describing it. Sensing how much she was using was overwhelming." Solona very nearly stammered. "I didn't know what to do, and I was just scared, and all I could think of was to take the mana away from her and there was so much and it was just…" She looked at him helplessly. "I don't know."

Greagoir softened. "Not many would come to the aid of a templar." His voice was quiet, and she felt suddenly uneasy in a different would really take her word for it? It seemed too convenient. "For that, you have my thanks." The Knight Commander seemed to hesitate. "Do you have any clue as to why you would not wake up?"

_Because I was in the Fade speaking with a demon and potentially agreeing to help him cross the Veil_. "No, sir." It was the truth. She didn't know why she ended up in the Fade completely awake, or how she had managed it. She didn't know why she hadn't responded to healing that should have revived her immediately. She was answering the question.

He sighed. "Very well." The attached 'I appreciate what you did but we'll be watching you all the same' went unspoken. It was just understood. And now Solona realized that she had openly fought against another mage, for a templar. She was not going to be popular, in a more polarizing way than before, where she had simply just existed.

It felt a little wrong to have saved a life and then be worried people were going to look down on her for it, but she couldn't really help it.

"Can…can I go?" She asked meekly. She didn't want to be in this office anymore; she wanted to hide in her room and pretend for a little while that she was just another normal mage. Greagoir nodded, and she did just that, moving quickly down the stairs to her room and huddling in the most private corner, knees to her chest, lyrium humming on the shelf next to her ear, reminding her of before, in the Fade.

_One should never make deals with demons…not all demons are _demons_…Sloth would teach her…and she didn't have to be possessed…_

She shivered as she realized she'd come to a decision long before she had woken up.

* * *

_Oh no! Neria is going to be Tranquil'd! Or is she? And poor Cullen. Maybe I abuse him a little too much… I wonder how Niall will take Solona being pegged as a templar sympathizer._

_Sloth might be my favorite character, by the way._

_Thanks for reading and reviewing and subscribing and faving!_


	9. Mean Girls

_Thank you everyone who has taken the time to read, review, favorite or otherwise just drop by the story. I'm glad people are enjoying it!

* * *

_

"How do you…sense magic, Niall?" Solona asked, breaking the comfortable silence. They were in his cubby hole, her positioned comfortably on his bed, him on the other end, parchment depicting glyphs between them. He looked up at her, eyebrow raised slightly in curiosity.

"Do you mean you can't, or are you asking what it seems like to me in particular?" He glanced back down to complete a line on the mock-up of a repulsion glyph.

"You in particular."

"Tastes. Sort of." He started on a new glyph, Sol craning over to try and guess it as it took shape. "Not specific, like steak and greens, tastes. Just…similar." He dipped his quill into the inkpot again. "Not really a very common way. Most seem to get just a sort of pull in their chest or gut. Some guessed the templars could _smell_ it, though they were probably being rude." He was halfway through, and now she could see the paralysis rune. "Why? How do you sense it?"

"It makes noise. I guess." She mumbled. "Is that normal?"

"Never heard of it, but I don't see why it would be abnormal. It's just a way of sensing magic." Niall shrugged. "Now," He held up the two sketched glyphs. "Let's practice a little more."

* * *

He felt like screaming. He _was_ a _he_ now, and not just an _it_, and that was altogether unsettling. Everything being solid, everything being real, and feeling, and color not muted and no blurring on the edge of his vision and this queer thumping in his chest playing out an unfamiliar rhythm and _air_ was going into his body and he almost ached to feel it because everything was so new and fresh and _immutable_ and soon he would surely combust from this supremely painful ecstasy…

* * *

After another botched paralysis wore off, Niall laughed quietly and shook his head. "That's enough for now, I think." He flopped down next to her, a sudden heavy presence on a bed built only for one person. Any other mage might have blushed, or smirked, or perhaps said something blunt, with the bodies of the two so close together. Solona merely furrowed her brow in disappointment, thinking about her failed glyphs.

Still, she hadn't pulled away from him. That was a good sign. Their relationship wasn't exactly 'normal' in the Tower; by in large, relationships weren't encouraged, and most mages didn't want them. Quick trysts and casual sex were the status quo, especially among apprentices. Mages tended to carry this over, despite having the luxury of more private living quarters.

But Niall wasn't the sort to be comfortable cavorting about and thriving on the danger of being discovered, and he had hoped Solona wasn't that way either. From what little he'd heard about her, she'd never been caught in a closet or corner or stairwell, when nearly _everyone_ had. Including him, which was what had cured him of his desire to do it that way ever again.

That, and he didn't like to rush things. All they _had_ in the Tower was _time_. As much as he would like to go somewhere else, away from the mundanes, it wasn't happening. And even then, what would they have? More time. It only made sense to take it slow. He _liked_ this, being comfortable with a nice, quiet person who was comfortable with him. Maybe it would even last.

Sol yawned, and he half expected her to get up to leave for her own room. Instead, he felt the tentative shift of her weight, and then a contented sigh as she settled in next to him, eyes fluttering shut in the beginnings of sleep. A smile quirked his lips as he relaxed obligingly to do the same.

* * *

His size was stuck. He was small and weak and nothing moved for him and there was a curious feeling in the pit of his belly that felt similar to what had consumed him before, only more raw and real and directly connected to his nose that twitched and limbs that moved him across the wood surface and onto some grainy morsel that _tasted_ and he didn't even know what it was like just that he had never simply _tasted_ anything and it was glorious...

* * *

"This isn't a good idea." Jowan said nervously. "I'm telling you, you can't just do this to a mage…"

"It's her fault Neria's in the dungeons right now." An apprentice with red-gold hair, appropriately named Marigold, hissed. "So don't give us that."

"Neria attacked a _templar_. What did she think was going to happen?" Jowan sputtered. He was backed into a corner, two female apprentices doing their level best to intimidate him. Unfortunately, it was working.

"She would have at least killed him if Solona hadn't interfered." The other, an elf with a prim face and strong demeanor, pointed imperiously at Jowan. Her name was Lira, and she bore no love for templars, teasing or real. "Which. One. Is. Her. Room?"

"Look, she's my f-f…" Jowan paled at the suddenly murderous looks on his fellow apprentice's faces.

"Your friend? She's barely talked to you since she was Harrowed, and now you're going to defend her?" Marigold asked, her voice turned dangerous. "Do you think that's really a good idea right now?"

"I don't want her to get hurt." He managed. The girls rolled their eyes.

"She won't be _Tranquiled_, if that's what you mean." Lira sneered. "So. Her room? Or maybe we should let slip to the Revered Mother what Lily's doing when she's supposedly involved in extra devotions…"

Jowan paled, and the girls grinned. They had him now.

* * *

Perhaps he had tasted too much because there was a curious new kind of ache in his belly that felt stretching and unpleasant, but it, too, was new and so it was quite interesting at the least. Still he felt something else that was similar to what he was used to but entirely more pervasive; he felt _tired_ and so he curled up into a little ball and shut his eyes.

"Ugh, what is _that_?" The sudden high pitched noise sent him immediately scrambling and he didn't even know why just that he needed to get away and find somewhere dark to cower and hide and so he did down some odd canvas material that slithered with magic and under the bed where he sat shaking and quivering.

"Just some stupid mouse. A cat'll get it later. We don't have much time." This was another voice, shriller, meaner, and it made him shake all the more as vibrations from footsteps sent tiny tremors up his spine. "Just start shredding things."

A grunt and an audible snap and then two pieces of something clattered to the floor and he scurried to the other side of the bed.

"What was that?"

"Some wooden flute. Probably didn't even work. The music book is there." A sharp sound, repeated over and over as small, flat things floated to the floor and he couldn't move too far away from any of them fast enough before another would appear and he would change direction.

"Quick little spark of fire to burn the bed. The templars won't notice it; they'll just think someone's starting a fireplace." There was some familiar pinprick on his senses and then some heat and a _smell_ and then it was gone again.

"That's good enough. Don't want to burn the whole thing down or they'll actually care enough to look for us."

"Right, this is good enough. She should get the picture." And then the tremor-steps moved away and vanished and he stayed where he was for a very long time to savor this new feeling that was probably terror and the blinding pain of the thumping in his chest.

* * *

Solona woke up slowly, and realized there was a crick in her neck and her arm had fallen asleep, but otherwise she was very warm and comfortable. Niall was still out, curled around her, and it wasn't a bad position to be in, really. Besides losing feeling in her arm, anyway.

Judging by the dimness of what light was normally had in the Tower, it was getting late. She really should check up on her…friend. Gently, she shook Niall's shoulder with her free hand. "Niall. Wake up."

He muttered something incoherent before rousing slightly. "Yes…?"

"You're on my arm."

"…Oh. Ha, sorry." Her fellow mage pulled himself upright. A sort of disturbed face appeared on Sol as she tried to work feeling back into her floppy arm, and Niall laughed. She punched him lightly in the shoulder when it regained use.

"I'm going back to my room. I'll see you tomorrow?" She asked. He nodded agreeably and, then, leaned forward to kiss her.

Her shock and surprise kept her from reciprocating, and it was a quick, unsure gesture on his part as well. Both were bright red by the end of it.

"Er…right. I hope you have a good night." He looked the ultimate in sheepish, and she gave him a smile.

"You, too, Niall." Sliding off the bed, she tried not to leave in any manner that could be construed as hasty or awkward. She didn't know what one _did_ after they kissed. For all that most of the mages and apprentices in the Tower really did, they should have found a closet or something to cover the doorway with and gone at it.

She wondered if he was disappointed they hadn't.

Harrowed mages had templars in the hallways, it was true, but no curfew. Therefore it was not uncommon for them to be out and about at odd hours with candles and books, and not a one gave her a second glance. For this, she was grateful, because she was quite certain the blush on her cheeks was some sort of blaring signal that could be interpreted any number of ways, as could her rapid walking.

Her mind was still clouded over with scattered thoughts involving Niall and what one would really have space to do in a cupboard when she turned the corner into her room.

It was a mess. Papers were everywhere, ripped in half and flung about. Her bed was ruined, covered in soot and half-burnt sheets. She could see one half of her wooden flute on the ground, but not the other. And where was…

Solona knew what had happened, and had expected it, certainly. But when the first day had passed and no one had said a word to her, kind or unkind, it had been a relief, thinking everything was back to normal. Obviously, it was not, and now she had lost her _music_, the music Niall had given her, and she had nowhere to sleep, and Maker, but _Sloth was missing._

The tug at her robe hem startled her so badly she almost kicked out at the source, when she felt the odd tugging sensation as a mouse climbed up. Small, dirt-brown, and large eared, the tiny creature stared up at her pitifully. A breath of relief whooshed out of her.

"So, you're all right." She murmured. The mouse gave what could only be described as an indignant squeak. "And still haven't learned to talk." Scooping up the creature, she slipped him into her pocket. "I don't suppose you know who did this…"

There was no answer from the mouse, which had curled up inside the cloth. She began gathering up her music sheets, noting that matching halves weren't even together in the same part of the room, and some had burnt up with the bedspread. She couldn't help it; she started to sniffle. It wasn't fair. That's all there was to it; just not fair.

"Sol, I was wondering—" Niall rounded the corner, hand on the back of his neck, still red from before (or perhaps newly red) when he stopped mid-sentence. She looked up at him like a guilty child, caught in the act of something that could easily be made into her fault. "Andraste's sword, what stupidity."

He took her hand, shaking the music pages out of it. "You can worry about those later. You…you can stay with me tonight, and we'll get you new bed things in the morning." One could tell he was attempting to take command of the situation, and yet the beginning of the last sentence tripped him up. "If…if you want to, I mean."

She hiccupped, forgetting for the moment that there was a demon in her pocket. Solona nodded, and hugged him, and the hiccups didn't stop, not until they were at his room and she was in his bed again and she was crying into his shoulder. In the past week and a half she'd undergone her Harrowing, had the templars suspicious of her, stopped another mage from killing a templar, been propositioned by a demon, called to the Knight-Commander's office, and now _this_. It was more 'excitement' than she'd ever had prior. She didn't even feel like herself anymore; what had she been _thinking_?

And yet, here she was, in another mage's bed, sobbing and soaking his robes while he stroked her hair and told her it would be okay. She clung to that, and him, as her stability, when before it had simply been herself. And as she dragged him down and kissed him, she missed the small mouse slipping away, down the bed and into the shadows of the stone.

* * *

_Okay, so, I know I mentioned to LibraMoon I would clear up some of Sol's motivation for helping Sloth, and then I didn't. Well…my bad, but the chapter went in a different direction than I planned. So, sorry for that, but I hope you enjoyed it all the same._

_And __**yes**__, Cullen will be back. I miss him, too._


	10. Spiders are not this Big

Solona no longer really slept in her room, not after the second time it was vandalized. No one apparently thought it wise to disturb Niall, however, so she stayed with him. Despite it not being encouraged (and actively discouraged), there were no rules against it, so neither of them could be in legitimate trouble. Her bedroom became the place she would go to practice in secret while Niall worked with his apprentices.

After his third day, Sloth had learned to talk. It was simple sounds at first, coupled with comical gestures put forth by tiny, waving mouse arms. Full words came quickly after, however, and soon there was enough communication for Solona to piece together his dissatisfaction with lyrium potions. They certainly hummed or vibrated, as she had thought, but their sand content was low and thinned by distillation agents. She needed pure sand or actual ore before she could work with such messy materials.

At least, that was what he thought. He had some idea what he was doing, but was also easily distracted by all the wonders of the mortal realm quite easily and would lose his train of thought to question her about the different peculiar stages of hunger and appetite. He was altogether different from his plodding, placid self in the Fade, and she couldn't help but think this was somehow her doing, far more than simply finding him a physical body to inhabit.

_"What's to stop you from possessing others, when you're out of the Fade? Simply switching bodies?" Solona asked it, waiting to wake up. There had to be a catch. Somewhere._

_"The contract I made with your Enchanters is centuries old, mortal." Sloth had yawned, sleepy after another lullaby. "And I have had my fill of the remains of failed apprentices for those centuries. In doing so, I swore to never inhabit the body of a sentient creature. A very convoluted and stipulated contract, with loopholes tied up over an exhaustive period. You are safe, as are those in your Tower." It settled in, smacking its lips. "The Tevinters do this sort of thing often, with animals; they call it making a Familiar."_

_She had heard of that, binding spirits or demons to animals to aid in magic. It had always seemed reckless to her. But with a demon who was bound to a contract, who hadn't violated it in centuries…maybe there was something to be gained there._

_And a small part of her wanted desperately to know more about singing lyrium._

How was she going to get solid lyrium ore? Besides it being poisonous, it was heavily guarded. She likely couldn't even get the sand on her own, because a templar would have to oversee the distillation process. And she wasn't an herbalist so her sudden interest would be considered uncharacteristic, especially with her being 'watched.'

Why did it have to be so complicated?

There was so much lyrium in the Fade, but she couldn't bring it back with her, and it behaved differently. If she could get access to the stockroom, perhaps…but it was unlikely. Senior Enchanter Leorah was in a snit over something, and the angry elven woman made her somewhat less than at ease. Still, maybe if she could help the enchanter with whatever was bothering her, she could get access to the storerooms…

It was worth a shot.

* * *

Cullen was bored. He had never spent so long at rest. Certainly, he had practice standing still and observing, but then there were things to observe and mages to look over and books to read over shoulders. Here, there was ceiling, and an occasional person whining about a cut finger, or a funny-smelling apprentice having burns cooled, but for the most part…ceiling. He was beginning to hate the ceiling.

He did not like to be at rest, he decided. He preferred to be doing things, anything, and at the moment he had nothing to distract himself from replaying the events which landed him in the infirmary in the first place, over and over, with added imagination for filled-in information.

Neria had attacked him. Certainly, she was reckless, and mischievous, and distraught over her brother's death. But she tried to kill him, in agony, after somehow finding out he had been the one to kill her brother. There were supposed to be fail safes for that, to keep mages from wreaking vengeance after Harrowings gone badly, so how had she known?

The fact that it had been Neria hurt even deeper. He had spent long hours whiling away the time by having idle fancies of their conversations, making her into a commoner, a merchant, a princess, anything that wasn't a _mage_ and thus held some possibility of a real connection. He knew that's all it was, idle fancies, but her trying to kill him, of all things, felt more like a betrayal, and heartbreak, than anything else.

And then, Solona…

Solona had saved him, somehow. The soft, unoffensive mage had stepped in and pulled the mana from Neria's body before being promptly knocked unconscious herself. The rumors about it were confusing, that she hadn't stopped at stealing Neria's mana, but had continued to absorb it from somewhere, uncontrollably, and he didn't know what to believe. It didn't sound right.

Still, to have been saved by her, well, it left him all kinds of confused and conflicted. It seemed so out of character for her to not have simply run and hid, or to just not interfere. He had convinced himself out of his infatuation long ago easily by focusing on one main point: she didn't care.

She had never seemed to care about anything, and was simply mild, pleasant and unassuming in all things. She held no special interest in him but was always polite, and she simply glazed her way through, uninterested but not bored, either. Simply polite, as if his bashful stuttering were the same as a passing conversation on the weather. And boring, as well. He had moved on from that just as the rumors were going, and their absurdity had made him laugh. To imagine her doing half the things they described were more ridiculous than a turn on.

But Solona had _saved him_, and that was just as equally hard to imagine. Perhaps he had misinterpreted her, or…something. He was completely thrown for a loop by this drastic change in her. Had the Harrowing really done something so she wasn't so unaffected by the world anymore?

It was as unsettling as it was intriguing and it was all he could think about lately. He wished he could have seen it as it had happened, and could form his own opinions of it. To see her rushing to his rescue, well…far from an insult to his masculinity, it was much more flattering than he realized. Maybe he would try to talk to her more, when he got out. Just to see how she had changed.

He was unaware that his cheeks tinged pink as he attempted to visualize the mage storming into battle, red hair flying behind her.

* * *

When Leorah had said 'spiders,' Solona had not imagined the terrors facing her now. She had expected to be grossed out, rather than frightened to her core. These could not simply be spiders anymore. They were bigger than her.

The first had nearly killed her, dropping from the ceiling on top of her and knocking the wind out of her chest. She had managed, somehow, to shield herself from the dripping fangs and thrashing limbs, and shoot it back with a bolt of lightning. The lightning had stunned it enough that she could desperately brain it with her staff, incoherent with terror enough to forget she didn't have to cover herself in spider-goo.

A good long time after it was certainly dead, she had managed to stop swinging her staff at it and take a moment to breathe. And then swallow bile because the smell was awful, and the sight was even worse. Still, she was in the storeroom now, and she needed to get the lyrium, in the far back, and the only way to do it was to kill more spiders.

She tried hard to picture the repulsion glyph Niall had taught her, and was able to successfully cast it in the next attack, such that when she was coated by ephemeral strands of spider silk, the two creatures could not approach near enough to take advantage while she tore herself free. Again, she was glad she did not bring Sloth; he would likely have been far too curious and enraptured and would have ended up dead. Or at least his body would have.

Or maybe he would have possessed a spider and _urgh_ she did not want to think about that.

Eventually, by the last spider, she had found the proper way to deal with them, and the paralysis runes were more solid and lasted far longer, allowing for a quick burst of lightning and arcane bolts that knocked the life from them. Her robes were torn, and she had a painful gash on her side, but it wasn't deep and wasn't poisoned, so she would be fine…considering.

Now she just had to find the lyrium.

She stilled and waited, quietly, for any sound to come to her. For a while, all she could hear was the pounding of her own heart in her ears. Until…

_That's not my heart_.

It was a persistent bass beat, in the syncopation hearts normally take, but was far too loud. When she put her fingers to her neck, it didn't match her pulse. It was the lyrium.

Following the sound as best she was able, she pulled on her gloves and pried open a container. Inside, in perfect arrangement, was a pile of pure lyrium ore, in small, round chunks and irregular crystals. She tried not to breathe; she simply scooped and pocketed a small piece the size of her palm, and slipped it into her pocket. She ignored the thought that _percussion_ was definitely not _singing_; she could deal with it later, when spider corpses weren't rotting around her.

Poison in her pocket would have unnerved her most days. _Loud_ poison was worse. But as she finally moved from the storeroom and informed Leorah of the good news, and refused the offer of potions for a job well-done, she realized she was still the only one who could hear it. Shaking, frightened but excited all the same, she went back to her room to inform Sloth of the success.

She hoped it wouldn't be too poisonous for his little form to be near.

* * *

_Look, it's Cullen! I promised youuuuu and there he is. Well, I didn't promise but I said he would be back and he is __**back**__. And look, aw, he's blushing. You're welcome._

_More to come soon, don't worry!_


	11. Even the Maker Doesn't Know

"_It's not singing_." Solona hissed in frustration, the little ball-shaped chunk of ore sitting on her old bed, on a scrap of cloth, Sloth-mouse on the other side of it. The demon did not seem overly impressed.

"It is. I can hear it. I do not know why you cannot." His little nose twitched, and he scratched an ear. "You can hear _something_, yes?"

"A drum beat, like a heart." She concurred, frowning. "That is far different than singing."

"I can hear that, but more." He reached his tiny mouse arms up at her, the signal for _I'm hungry_. She sighed, snapping off more of a cracker to hand to him. "But it is something, to hear the beat of the lyrium."

"It's not what I hear in the Fade." Sol groused, crossing her arms. She realized she was pouting, and found she didn't care.

"No, it isn't. Maybe there is a reason for that." He talked easily as he ate, just as his mouth never moved when he spoke.

They were quiet for a while, and the continual percussion of the lyrium was beginning to wear on her. She couldn't escape it, not without stashing the ore somewhere, and she was afraid of discovery. So she kept it in her pocket, wrapped in several layers of cloth, paranoid about continual exposure poisoning herself.

She was anxious about a lot lately.

"You know," Sloth began, washing his face with his paws, "I don't think I ever heard the heart beat in the Fade."

"Isn't Lyrium more muted in the Fade anyway?" Solona asked, wrapping the ore up again. Was she getting sick? She didn't know if anything was paranoia or legitimate illness. She didn't want to take a headache or a random bout of forgetfulness as a sign of things-to-come, but she didn't want to _ignore_ it either.

"Hmm." Sloth's noise was aggravatingly non-committal. "I'll think on it." His nose twitched again. "Didn't you have somewhere you needed to be, mor…Solona?"

He had started trying to call her by name, and she wasn't sure if it creeped her out or gratified her that he was seeing her as more than just another 'mortal.' She probably needed to come up with a name for him that wasn't 'Sloth,' to be fair.

"I suppose…I have been missing evening services too much lately." She winced; she didn't want to go, still, but it looked bad for any mage to miss too often. It made the clergy twitching, thinking you had some reason to not attend. Though, technically, she did, looking down at the curious mouse-face harboring a demon of the Fade.

"I want to go." Sloth stated simply, scampering down into her pocket. She flinched in surprise.

"You…you can't _go_—" She hissed.

"And why not? I want to know about this 'Maker.' And the last time I tried to go in on my own, a cat tried to…eat me, I suppose. That is what cats do to smaller mortals, yes?" Sloth poked his small head out of her pocket, whiskers waving about.

"…Yes, it is." She sighed. "Can you follow some rules?"

"I can, yes. What will you give me in return?"

She cursed. Every time she asked something of the mouse, he required a trade. It was becoming a tricky, complicated relationship. "You get to _go_ is the trade. And neither of us end at the business end of a Templar sword."

"…Acceptable." He huffed. "What are these rules?"

"You stay in my pocket. You make no noises. From the moment we leave the room until the moment we get back, you may say _nothing_ and you may not poke your head out. Understand?" She was crazy. Suddenly the past week made complete sense; _she was crazy_.

"Understood." He vanished into her pocket. She started thinking _Maker, what am I doing?_ But, in the end, it was probably better if even He didn't know. Though she hadn't seen it mentioned anywhere in the chant, bringing a demon to service was probably blasphemy.

* * *

Cullen had been deemed well enough to go to evening service, though he had to go right back to the infirmary after. Tomorrow, he would be allowed to go back to his quarters, and the day after he would be able to resume his duties. It was welcome news. He'd been driving himself mad in his idleness and he had really missed the Chant. Considering the current bent of some of his thoughts, he could definitely use some spiritual guidance…

When he entered, however, somehow he zeroed in on the mussed waves of russet hair that clearly belonged to _her_. He swallowed nervously.

On one level, Cullen was a rational man. He understood the concepts of forbidden fruit and fantasy versus reality. He was able to logically point out to himself where he had built her up to more than she ever could be, simply due to her having saved his life. He also knew it was ridiculous to ever imagine the thoughts could come to anything, and there was also the fact that he barely knew her, if his constant surprise at her latest actions were any indication.

But on another level, Cullen was a man prone to flights of fancy, and he found that to be a much more pleasant level to exist on overall.

As he slowly walked down the aisle to find a seat, he debated the course of action. He would really, really like to sit next to her. Even if it was just to say hello, and perhaps to catch her as she was leaving after and thank her for what she did. He realized, however, that the rumor mill would explode with any implications, especially if he sat right next to her as he truly wanted.

Why couldn't she have been later than him? He would have much preferred it be her choice to sit next to him.

On the upside, templars usually had to be intermixed with mages during service and there was no Templar in her pew. This was to avoid, probably, the entire mage-side from becoming abominations at once while the entire templar side stumbled over each other to slay them. The thought had a sort of morbid entertainment value to it, if he could keep it from straying to thoughts of Alim…

Thankfully, then, he was at her bench and could distract himself by sitting down, near her but not _near her_. It was with some disappointment that he noticed her tense slightly, even behind the serene, blank expression she always wore. Did she not recognize him? He wasn't in his armor, rather in his colorful tunic, but he'd also never worn his helm before.

Perhaps that was it…and he entertained himself with thoughts of what it could mean, rather than stutter and stumble over himself to the mage next to him.

* * *

Solona had been hoping where she was sitting was isolated enough not to attract any templar attention. Sloth had kept his word and stayed in the pocket and not made a sound, but he liked to twitch and wriggle and fidget and _move_, something that was very difficult to ignore. Both for her and anyone watching.

Thankfully Cullen sat on the opposite side, so he couldn't see the occasionally wriggling mass, and service was about to start, so no one would sit next to her. Niall was a few pews back, with his apprentices. Even if no one had stopped them from seeing each other on their own time, they both doubted they could get away with fraternizing in the chapel. It was fine with her, though she felt guilty still that he didn't know about Sloth.

No one could really know about Sloth if she wanted to live through having him, however.

Cullen looked much better now, she had to admit. Though the last time she'd seen him he'd been covered in enough healing poultices that she hadn't even recognized him. Now he was in his dress tunic, and he looked rather nice. No scarring noticeable, at least.

* * *

She kept looking at him, and it was distracting. Cullen was trying to pay attention to the service, he really was, but it wasn't half as amusing as watching the mage try to sneak peeks at him surreptitiously. What could be so interesting that she would keep glancing at him that way? She couldn't expect him not to notice; he was a _templar_, they amused themselves all day by catching every little thing there was to see. It was habit now.

What was he going to say to her after the service? He had to think about it now, or he was going to completely bungle it with stuttering and stammering. Solona needed at the very least a thank you, maybe something else. But what else could he possibly say or do?

Cullen realized with a start that the service was over as she stood up and waited patiently, expectantly, for him to do the same so she could exit the pew. His face went red with what he hoped was embarrassment.

"Er, S-Solona…" He began, and she paused, looking up at him. That calm expression bothered him immensely. "I…I wanted t…to thank you, f-for, er, saving me from…" How was this so hard to say?

Her mouth twitched. Was it a smile, or a frown? He couldn't tell. She didn't seem to know what to say, and it made the peacefulness crack. "It wasn't a big…deal…" She offered weakly, then winced, realizing what she had said. Saving someone's life was a big deal. "I mean…"

Maker, it was awkward for both of them. How does a prisoner respond to their jailor and protector that they had saved? You're welcome probably sounded just as hollow.

"If-If there's anything I…I could…" Cullen offered lamely, realizing there wasn't really anything he could provide in gratitude. The lines were clearly drawn.

"No, that's…that's okay…"

"Solona?" A voice, nervous and edgy, broke in, and the pair immediately turned towards it, welcoming the reprieve from the awkward conversation. Jowan fidgeted nearby, glancing furtively at Cullen but focused on Sol. "I…could I talk to you?"

"Of course." She responded, a little too quickly. Cullen frowned. She turned back to him. "I hope you're feeling well, Ser Cullen."

"I..I am, yes. It w-was nice talking to you." He forced out. Jowan interrupting was both a blessing and an annoyance. He wanted to talk to her, but it was just so _difficult_.

* * *

Solona breathed a sigh of relief, even if Jowan's demeanor made her nervous. Talking with Cullen was more difficult now than it had ever been, now that he was, she supposed, in her debt. It was an uncomfortable place for the pair to be, considering their roles.

"What's wrong, Jowan?" She asked, as he led her away.

"I…I need your help. Neria's gone, you know. They…they made her Tranquil the other night. And her former friends are…are vicious." Jowan shuddered, and Solona felt the guilt clench around her heart. "You're all I have left, Sol."

"What's wrong, Jowan?" She did not like where this was going. Not at all.

"I can't talk about it right now, it's not safe. Can you…meet me later? Or can I come to your room tonight?" He asked low, quiet. Her mind swam with possibilities, each more unfortunate than the next.

"I…Niall will notice if I don't stay tonight, and…I…" She started, feeling her mask slip. As it did, Jowan got visibly more upset, and she tried to fix it. "We'll figure something out. Can it at least wait til tomorrow?"

"…Yes." Jowan hesitated. "Yes, I'll be okay for a few days, but the sooner we get together, the better. I'm sorry, I just…I don't know where else to go."

"It's fine, Jowan. Just…just head back downstairs and we'll find somewhere to talk tomorrow." Sol reassured him. As he departed, Sloth fidgeted in her robes, and she felt her skin crawl.

Maybe she should have seen Jowan tonight. She certainly wasn't going to be getting any sleep.

* * *

_Wow, this was almost stressful to write. Look at how awkward and anxious everyone is! GOSH. I hope you guys enjoy how this is developing still. It's a little different than I'd first envisioned it, so it's always evolving. I'll have to go back and edit some of the chapters later for inconsistencies, but hopefully it will all make sense in the end._

_Also, I love awkward Cullen/Amell conversations. Oh they're so goofy._


	12. Stupid, Uncharacteristic Things

She'd gotten up early, a rarity for her, the same time as Niall. He'd shown surprise (he was on his way to roust his apprentices from their slumber), and told her to go back to sleep, but she'd simply shrugged and said she couldn't, and given him a kiss on his way out. She waited a heart-hammering minute for him to be gone before she scooped Sloth out from under the bed, tucked him in her pocket, and strolled as quickly as possible to the shambles of her room.

She seated herself on the bed, folding her legs under her and leaning her elbows on her knees. Unwrapping the lyrium ore again, she wanted to forget that she had said she would meet Jowan later. Whatever it was couldn't be good, and she was so sick of bad news.

"Did you figure anything out?" Solona asked, the hitch in her voice being squashed down immediately. She drew out the mouse ball from her pocket. Sloth stretched sleepily.

"You're up early." His placid voice responded, completely ignoring the question. He ambled across the bed towards some crumbs she had laid out, finishing them quickly with his scissoring teeth. She'd also set out some scraps of wood to help file them down.

"I suppose it's always easy for Sloth to sleep." _Lucky_.

"Yes." The mouse admitted, unconcerned, around bits of food. "I could sleep now and you would never wake me. Did you come to a conclusion about the percussion?"

"…I asked you first." Sol groused sourly.

"So, no, then." The mouse sighed. "I _think_ it has something to do with the queer sensation I have in my chest. My…heart? You mortals are born with…percussion. Two steady beats, yes? Like you can hear in the lyrium. You even described it as a heartbeat." He washed his face with his paws as he continued. "So, that is what you hear. Spirits, demons, we have no hearts. We have no definitions. Just as our shape is undefined in form, it is undefined in sensation. You are limited, and so it will take practice for you to _not_ be limited." He paused, one ear in his tiny hands. "Does that make sense?"

Solona thought about it, somewhat in awe at the reasoning. "It…does, yes…" She frowned. "No, not really. Why can I hear it in the Fade, then?"

"I don't have every answer, Solona." The demon sniffed. "All I have is speculation. I have never been to the mortal world before this. You will have to teach the ore to sing so you can hear it."

"You want me to teach a _rock_ to sing?" Solona felt like tearing out her hair. "_How_, exactly?"

"As I said before, I don't have every answer." Sloth was beginning to sound irritated with her. "You have put magic in your voice before, in the Fade, when you heard the songs of the demons. You sang for me, and you molded the song of Rage. Do it again." He said that like it was simple, as if it was the most obvious answer in the world.

"Talking is one thing, but singing like that is hard without attracting people, _templars_. Putting magic into song isn't normal, and they'll want to know what I'm doing. And why." Solona groaned, leaning, chin on her hands. "I don't even know why. What's this supposed to _do_ even?"

"Make the lyrium sing. Is there a reason you cannot do something for beauty alone?" His voice sounded mocking. There was something else he wasn't saying.

"It's usually not enough for the templars. Can you imagine? 'Oh, it's just a rock singing. I swear it's not demon-possessed. How did I learn to do it? A demon taught me how, of course.'" She responded sarcastically. Lack of sleep was making her testy and snappish. "There has to be something else to this, Sloth." Solona was not good at subtlety.

"…There might be." He admitted, slowly. She narrowed her eyes.

"_Sloth_…"

"I said I would help you learn to make it sing. Not tell you what it does. I need something else for that." He said, expectantly. Her fists clenched.

"_More_ bargaining?"

"I am a demon, Solona. Do you think I give things away for free?" Sloth snorted. "You have been lucky so far, and I am not greedy. I won't ask anything you cannot give. But I will think this time on what I want." He curled up into a little mouse ball, half-dozed already. "Go meet your friend, find out what _he_ wants from you, while I decide."

Sloth then immediately dropped asleep. Solona stared at him, frustrated, then wrapped the lyrium back up in a huff, slipping it into her pocket. She picked him up as well, setting him in the other one. Wouldn't do to have his comatose form being swallowed up by an errant mouser…

* * *

Jowan paced in the hallway, twisting his hands in agitation. When Solona stepped out of her room, he rushed to her, looping his arm into hers and dragging her away. She startled at the action, completely unlike him, but followed along, customary calmness clicking into place over the surprise. He loved that she could do that; it helped him feel less jittery.

When the pair arrived in the chapel, hustled into the back where Lily waited, Solona's only response was to raise an eyebrow almost imperceptibly. As the story spilled out, however, Jowan noticed with alarming surety that she wasn't pleased with what was going on.

"We need a mage and someone with the password to help us get into the repository. It won't open for an apprentice who hasn't been through the Harrowing." Jowan concluded, voice dying at the end. Solona was frowning heavier than he'd ever seen.

"You know what you're asking, right? I was just hit with a _smite_ not even a week ago, and I can't be made tranquil. If they catch me, they'll probably throw me into solitary for a year, _at least_." Solona hissed, frustrated. "And I can't escape with you, either. My phylactery is gone."

"You can evade them, though. You're clever." Lily tried. Jowan winced. She didn't know Solona at all, if that's what she thought. The soft, sedentary mage lifestyle suited her far better.

"I haven't been outside the Tower since I was very little, Lily. And going with you would defeat the purpose of destroying Jowan's phylactery in the first place." Solona grimaced, all sorts of unpleasant chase-scene imagery flashing through her mind. "And them-in-charge thinking Jowan is a blood mage means if I was caught outside the Tower _with_ the two of you, they would accuse me of the same. They're already worried about my weird sleeping bouts, and what happened with Cullen, and…Jowan, I _can't_."

"You don't understand!" Jowan couldn't believe it. She was refusing to help him! "They're going to make me _tranquil_. Like Owain. Like they're going to do to Neria." He saw her flinch, then, and seized on his chance. "If I don't destroy my phylactery, they'll hunt to kill, not just bring me back like Anders because he's such a good healer. And if I don't leave, they'll extinguish my humanity, on a _rumor_."

* * *

Solona felt like a coward. The stakes were so high for her, though. A demon mouse in her pocket, contraband lyrium ore in the other, strange, extended, unexplainable sleeping patterns, being involved in an attempted murder of a templar…if she compounded it with aiding the escape of a convicted blood mage (and an initiate), she was doomed. Greagoir would stop believing she had tried to save Cullen, and it would be turned against her in a heartbeat. Solitary confinement would be too lenient.

"Jowan…" She started. His pleading look was cracking her resistance.

"Please, Sol. I need help." Jowan's voice was wavering, and his eyes were wet. He was terrified. Her resolve melted.

"…You just need a mage's mana dispelled on the first door, right?" She groaned out. Jowan nodded emphatically.

"And a fire rod to melt the lock on—" Lily continued. Solona cut her off with an impatient scoff.

"Jowan can use fire. He's much better at it than I am, even, and far better than a rod." The initiate frowned, uncomfortable. Did she not trust her un-Harrowed boyfriend's magic? Solona did not like her at all.

"That's all we need, yes." Jowan was calmer, though he was still fidgety. "You'll help us, then?"

"You know I can't be implicated in this, Jowan." Her friend may have been terrified, but she was scared, too. She had a lot at stake as well.

After concentrating for a moment, she held a clasped palm out in front of her. The insides of her fist began to glow, and she opened it to reveal a heavily charged spell wisp, floating in lazy, magic-saturated circles. "Use this. It has…a good portion of my mana." She transferred it to his hands, trying not to let her limbs shake. Whether it would be from the fear or the act of draining over half her mana into such a small form was unclear. "Just discharge it against that door."

Jowan cupped the wisp reverently in both hands, holding it to his chest, where it let out a soft light between his fingers. "Thank you, Sol. I…" He paused, "…_we_ won't forget this." He amended, glancing at his nervous paramour. "Let's go, Lily."

"Maker watch over you." Lily murmured to Sol. The mage got the distinct impression Lily felt put out that the mage wasn't coming along. Solona's instincts were probably right; she didn't trust Jowan to see them through this. It would have irked her more if she hadn't been told that it was Lily who had brought Jowan the news. She trusted him not to believe he was a blood mage, and maybe that was good enough.

"And you. Take care of him." Solona murmured. Jowan was a good person. He didn't deserve to be made tranquil on a rumor. She couldn't even imagine the timid apprentice having the fortitude to stick himself with a needle, let alone draw the blood needed for maleficarum.

She watched them go, feeling the weight of her contraband in her pockets, a testament to mages who did stupid, uncharacteristic things for the best and worst of reasons.

* * *

_All right, sorry this took so long, and it's kinda short. Hit kind of a snag in my ability to write. Thank you for everyone being so patient and all your favorites, alerts and reviews. They keep me going! I try to reply to everyone, so I'm sorry if I missed you._

_About last chapter: my interpretation of Cullen is that he's prone to a big imagination, and doesn't always take into account realities. He's also had a lot of time alone to fantasize about the mage who saved his life. Building on a past infatuation and realizing he may have dismissed Solona as boring too quickly was what spurred him to redevelop his crush. It definitely isn't rational! I tried to convey that a little, but I'm sorry if it didn't come out right._

_If you're interested in seeing what Solona looks like, I did a rough sketch of her on my devART. Just remove the spaces from this URL and you can see: __http :/ /fav. me __ /d3aexvc_


	13. Blood and Lyrium

"Well?" Sol asked, pulling the mouse out of her pocket, back in the 'safety' of her room. Sloth cracked an eye open.

"Well, what?" His irises flashed momentarily, and then the lid fell half-mast, as if he would doze off again.

"Did you figure out what you want?" She demanded. If everyone was going to ask stupid favors, better to get it all over with _now_. So when the templars came for her because she aided and accused blood mage she could just get everything else out in the open as well.

"Oh. Yes." His other eye opened and he eased up on his hind legs. "Set me down on the bed."

She did so, seating herself as well. "Okay…?" He cleaned an ear, all the while staring at her quietly. After a moment, she frowned. "Well?" Sloth still said nothing, just rocking back onto his mouse ankles, staring up at her. "C'mon, Sloth…tell…me…" She wavered. "I…I'm just feeling a little…dizzy…" He didn't say anything, still. "I'm just…I'm going to take a nap." She fell bonelessly against the pillow, immediately asleep.

The small mouse twitched its nose, scurrying into her pocket.

* * *

Cullen was back on duty. He hadn't known before that it was to be a shortened duty, and at first he had scoffed. But after several hours of standing in one place after his body had just become accustomed to lying in one place and he was thankful he could move creakily about the Tower momentarily.

Perhaps he could go by the library, and Sol would be there. She would maybe need some help getting a book from a high shelf, which he could get for her and wave off her thanks gallantly without a single stutter. Or perhaps that Niall would pester her some more (he'd been hanging around her an _awful lot_ lately…) and Cullen could chase him off. Bravely…no, _valiantly_…

It was good that he had a lot of practice at keeping his face neutral or he'd have been grinning like a fool when the other templars rushed by, one grabbing him by the shoulder almost hard enough to spin him around. "Move! We have to scour the tower for a blood mage."

The words no templar ever wanted to hear. The fear hit him suddenly, the first reminder he'd ever had that _a mage had tried to kill him_ that he'd acknowledged since the incident with Neria, despite being surrounded by them. Luckily, his body had moved of its own accord, drawing his sword and falling in line with his brothers and sisters as they moved to cover every possible exit and scour every room. Mages and apprentices were confined immediately to their dorms, or the closest dorm available, a templar at every door.

No one knew who the blood mage was, what he or she looked like, or what they had done. All they knew was that the Tower was on lockdown, and Greagoir and Irving were on a tear through it to find them. Seeing as how the pair (and the two templars flanking them) were covered in blood, it became general knowledge that they had actually been _assaulted_ by the blood mage.

Cullen suddenly found the two-templars to each confined room of mages to be rather inadequate, and wished he could somehow convince them to stand in easily smite-able clusters. They were so nervous the air was crackling with magic, and it made him twitch, remembering the feel of electricity lancing through his body. It didn't appear Solona was around, either, to rush to his rescue. Or for him to rescue…

Still, better if she wasn't involved in this mess. It would be good for her not to be smack in the center of a confusing mess.

* * *

"You…you _forced me into the Fade_?" Solona was furious. Sloth stood before her calmly, its bear form sporting a sardonic smile. She noticed it was lacking any sores or spikes on its body, and its eyes were far less runny. Its coat even had a hint of shine to it. This might have been more curious if the demon hadn't just magicked her comatose.

"Yes. I did." It was completely unconcerned with her anger. "Because what I want you to do for me, in part, can only be done here. And if you actually pay attention to what you are doing, Solona, it will help you when we leave."

"…What do you mean, 'in part'?" Solona crossed her arms, too peeved to simply follow along with the demon's game.

"I want a name."

"You have a name." She protested.

"I have two names. You call me Sloth, as it is what I am. I have my true name, as well, which no spirit ever speaks but has the power to bind me to your Circle's agreement, so long ago. But I want a mortal name." Sloth yawned, showing off white teeth. "It is not much to ask."

"Which is why it is so _odd_ that you want one." Sol continued. "If it isn't important you wouldn't be holding it over my head."

"You wouldn't give me one otherwise." The demon grumbled. Did it sound…put out?

"You don't know that." Solona was curious; the whole situation was weird.

"So you would give me a name without asking anything in return?" Sloth scoffed.

"Yes? If it's just something you want, like you said, why wouldn't I?" She pursed her lips.

"Demons don't give things for free. Everything has a price." It stared at her, the expression on the animal face impossible to read.

"I'm not a demon, though." Solona pointed out.

"…True." Sloth relented. It hesitated, and the mage got the impression it was thinking very hard about something in particular. "…Very well. We shall try it that way, then."

"What? Try what in what way?" Sol asked, immediately on the defensive. "I haven't agreed to anything, so don't try to trick—"

"I am not tricking you. I am going to give you a…'present.'" The demon grumbled. "That is what it is called, correct? A 'gift,' where you offer something for nothing?"

"Er, yes." Sol agreed, surprised. "But…I won't owe you for it?"

"No. Though, if you should see fit to give me a name, perhaps another song, at your discretion, well…I like 'gifts' as well. Or," It amended, "I think I would, anyway."

"…All right. So long as you don't _expect_ it, like a debt you will collect on." She agreed, finally.

"Agreed. Now. As to why we are here…you are going to learn to sing like the lyrium does." Sloth yawned again, a mighty stretch of the mouth. "Because that is the key to everything."

* * *

Irving cycled between furious and focused, confused and resolved. Jowan had proven himself to be a blood mage, as the rumors had postulated. Of anyone in the tower, the First Enchanter would have suspected him last of all. Even when Greagoir came to him, stating he had proof, Irving tried to argue with the Knight Commander, tried to persuade him not to pass the order to make the apprentice tranquil. But in the end, he had to relent.

Now it seemed all he had accomplished was to delay it enough that Jowan could escape the tower, sans phylactery. He was too old for this, and he suspected Greagoir would be impossible to deal with until the young man was found and executed. Irving was inclined the same way; it had been one thing when he had just been _suspected_ of forbidden magic; now he had actively used it against three templars and a mage, himself, after breaking into the basement. He'd also stolen a staff from the repository, irritatingly enough. Just more to add to the pile.

Everyone was scrambling, mages and templar alike were nervous and frightened, and already there had been an accidental smiting after a rather distraught apprentice accidentally discharged lightning at a jumpy templar. It was a complete disaster, and Irving sorely missed the presence of the main body of his senior enchanters.

Roll was being taken, and no one knew yet who the accused was. It would be good to note who avoided notice in these times. While it wasn't exactly proof, it could show who needed to be watched closely.

Irving wished he could have been surprised when Solona's name appeared on the rota as missing. There were too many strikes piling up against that mage. Greagoir gave his colleague a troubled look; Sol had never been a threat, she had been the most harmless mage to ever pass the Harrowing. Ever since she refused to wake up after passing her Harrowing, however, she had changed, _rapidly_, and neither of them liked it. She hadn't been possessed, or Pride would have informed him immediately. Yet…

Once she was found, she would need to be questioned. Interrogated, more like. She was friends with Jowan, and he had to have had a mage's help to get into the vault. If she was involved with his escape, then there would be no helping her. She would be killed.

* * *

"So, what is the connection?" Solona asked, resting for a moment. It wasn't real singing, mimicking the lyrium she was seated next to. It was in her voice, certainly, and it had a tune, but it was so saturated with magic that it was all together something different. "Why is this important?"

"You said it yourself. 'Connection.'" Sloth intoned, rubbing one ear with a paw, wincing. Apparently, she was often 'out of tune.' "Mages have magic because they draw on the Fade. Lyrium helps restore this connection when it is gone from a mage. Lyrium exists simultaneously in the Fade as it does in the mortal world. It _sings_ to connect itself with its Fade counterpart." It shook its head, ridding it of the ringing. "You mortals have this…reaction to too much lyrium. You call it…addling? You start to become too _connected_ to the Fade, and dream while awake, making you 'loopy.'" It smacked its lips as if it found the word distasteful.

"Where did you find that out?" Sol quirked a tired eyebrow at him.

"When you are asleep, or eating meals, or doing all those things where I cannot come along, I attend…lectures? Classes?" Sloth shrugged, an odd thing for bear shoulders to accomplish. The concept of a small mouse taking notes on lyrium addiction made Solona want to giggle. "When you are able to sing like the lyrium in your world, and make it sing where you can hear it, then you enhance its connection to the Fade, making it more potent. I think."

"So, I'm basically making…stronger lyrium potions?" Sol let out a short bark of a laugh. "It seems like a lot of effort for something like that. We'd just get addled faster."

"I do not know. I surmise we shall find many ways to use it. I do not think this has been done before, and I am very old." Sloth settled near her. She was surprised to find it was warm.

"Wait…if lyrium is the connection to the Fade, why is blood magic stronger than regular magic?" Sol reached over casually, petting the demon as if it was a dog. A barely perceptible shift brought it closer.

"Because magic is in the blood, so naturally using it directly is more potent." Its eyes went half-closed, obviously enjoying the petting. "In essence, all magic is blood magic. You were born a mage, correct? So it is in your blood. But it is not 'blood magic' in the same sense." It sighed. "Continue your singing. I cannot maintain this for too much longer."

"Sure I won't hurt your ears?" She teased. It laughed.

"I am sure you will."

* * *

Solona was missing. How could Solona be missing? Cullen didn't understand it. Surely, she wasn't the blood mage. That was just…impossible. _Impossible_. Not her, never her.

He joined the search to find mages and apprentices who hid from the templars. Most were just scared, hiding not to avoid suspicion, but out of fear of blood mages themselves. Or of hair-trigger templars. They were sent to join the rest with a short, stern lecture and a note of their hiding place.

After a half hour, only Solona was still missing. It was at that point that Cullen jokingly asked if anyone had checked her bedroom in an attempt to distract himself from his mounting concerns. Thus, he was shocked when a templar paused and replied, "You know, I don't think anyone did."

"Why…why wouldn't anyone check there _first_?" Cullen asked, flabbergasted. Wouldn't that be the obvious place to look?

"'Cause she don't use it anymore." The templar shrugged. "Always with Niall, even at night."

Cullen mentally deflated. She _slept with_ Niall? Every night? He had just thought…that Niall was…and Solona…

He felt _betrayed_. He knew that was ridiculous, and childish, and placed far more expectations on Solona than proper, but _still_. And as he climbed the stairs to the floor her room was on, he cursed under his breath calling her all kinds of names and disparaging Niall's character completely and _how could he have been so stupid as to think_—

And then he was at her room and he was absolutely ready to simply be just a little harsher with her than necessary, when it became clear that the woman was _asleep_ on her bed, looking for all the world as if she had sat down and then collapsed in unconsciousness. Her hair was everywhere, in her face, her limbs were tangled, and she was in mage robes rather than a sleeping shift.

He had to grudgingly admit, it was rather adorable. Still, he had a job to do.

"Amell." He called. She didn't stir. "Mage Amell!" He tried, sharper. Her fingers twitched, but otherwise, nothing. He reached over and grabbed her shoulder, something he had never done before, and tried to gently shake her a little. "Wake up."

She let out a low "Mmm." but didn't otherwise react. He peevishly ignored that he liked that sound coming from her. This was not the time or place for that kind of thinking, especially not when she was _with Niall_.

"Mage Amell, wake up!" He shook her a little harder. No reaction at all. Just peaceful sleep, just like after her Harrowing. That…did not bode well for her.

Scooping her up, just as he'd done after her Harrowing, as well, he carried her out of the room. He would have to take her to the Knight Commander and the First Enchanter. She was…in a lot of trouble. A small, petty part of him wished he could be happy about it. But it was impossible not to feel that small, sinking sensation of dread at the very deadly possible outcomes.

* * *

_Thank you everyone so much! I'm glad you're all enjoying this. Since my other fic 'Kicking and Screaming' (where Solona will play a bit part until the sequel, which she'll fit into more prominently) is already at the Tower and inside, I'll be updating this one as quickly as possible in order to try and match up with it. So, more updates for you soon!_

_I hope I showed Cullen's flightiness a little better. Despite his model in-game, which made him seem a little older (which I prefer to all remakes, honestly), I imagine him as pretty sheltered with an over-active imagination. This _will _change, so don't expect him to be this childish forever. ;)_

_Also, don't worry! Niall comes back next chapter *waves little Niall flag*._

_I hope all the weird magic stuff I'm making up isn't too non-sensical or dumb. Also, as a side note: Sloth is a 'he' in the mortal world because his mouse form has a gender, but it is an 'it' in the Fade because demons/spirits don't have gender.  
_


	14. Interrogation

Irving and Greagoir stood over the mage, glowering. Sol was propped up in a chair, slumbering peacefully, breathing even and undisturbed despite her arrival in the uncomfortable, metal-encased arms of Cullen. The templar wavered uncertainly in the corner of the room, forgotten for the moment.

"At least this answers the question as to whether or not she helped Jowan." Irving sighed, crossing his arms.

"We don't know when she fell asleep or why she keeps having these…fits." Greagoir countered. "For all we know, she did help Jowan and then went to sleep after."

"When she wakes up, we will question her. There is nothing we can do until then." Irving did not seem pleased with this pronouncement.

"There is plenty we can do. Ser Cullen!" Greagoir barked, and the fidgeting templar straightened up immediately, "Fetch Niall, and quickly." He ducked out of the room double-time, and the Knight Commander turned back to their 'captive.' "Search her, Irving, or I will."

"Very well." Irving seemed rather uncomfortable, but resigned, to the prospect. He gently moved sat her up a bit straighter, in order to access the pocket on the right side. Withdrawing it, in his hand was clasped a small, wrapped bundle.

"Is that…?"

"…Lyrium." Irving said, unwrapping it.

"What could she be doing with it?" Greagoir asked, mostly sarcastic. It was well-known that one could be addicted to lyrium, and it was worth a great deal among mages and apprentices alike. The question, then, became: was she a dealer, or a user?

"We don't know why she has it, Greagoir. I am not willing to simply assume she is trafficking it." Irving replied softly. "Though perhaps it could be what is inducing these unwaking comas? An adverse reaction to lyrium?"

"Are you really so ready to rationalize away every possible condemnation against her?" Greagoir demanded.

"Are you ready to condemn her so quickly? Even after Neria and Cullen?" Irving's voice held equal accusation and anger. Greagoir said nothing, and Irving placed the lyrium on his desk. Returning to Sol's sleeping form, he moved her over slightly so he could reach the next pocket.

* * *

"Solona, you have to wake up now." Sloth seemed alarmed, an odd state for its usual dopey, placid self. The mage in question froze.

"I don't know…how? It's always just happened!" Sol's throat was hoarse from all the singing and practicing, and it only made her sound frightened.

"If I release you, they will know it was me." Sloth protested. It really was agitated, _scared_. "You have to wake up on your own."

"They? Who are _they_?" Solona demanded. It was a sudden rush of fear and adrenaline, not knowing who or what was around her while she slept. "How do I wake up!"

"Argh! Stupid mortal!" Sloth yelled, rearing up on its back legs, immense bear paws outstretched. Solona quailed.

"What are you…what are you doing?" She cowered, so surprised that she was frozen in indecision. But Sloth didn't answer, it simply roared and lunged for her. She crossed her arms in front of her face, yelling, "No! St—

"—op!" Solona lurched forward, knocking Irving off balance and back into Greagoir. His hand had been centimeters away from the pocket where Sloth-mouse was only now stirring. Her heart racing, eyes wide with fear, she stumbled back into the chair, gripping the arm rests. "I…I…."

"You had better explain yourself, and _quickly_!" Greagoir barked, pulling Irving to his feet. Solona had to look around the room, completely disoriented, to even get her bearings to speak. This was not quick enough for Greagoir, who stormed forward, looming over her. "Did you hear me, Mage Amell?"

"Y-yes…yes, sir…" Solona squeaked, and it was just as jarring that her throat was not sore as it had been in the Fade. "I…I was sleeping…"

"Yes, we are well aware of that." He snapped, moving back from her. "In fact, once again, we _could not wake you_. And while you were out, a blood mage escaped from the Tower!"

"A blood mage?" Solona's head was still spinning. What did that have to do with her?

"Perhaps you would know him better as the apprentice Jowan." Irving cut in quietly. "He broke into the repository, destroyed his phylactery, and used blood magic to make his escape."

"Jo…Jowan? He's, he's not a blood mage!" And there she laughed, because it was just _so ridiculous_ and she had to still be in the Fade. She had to have been asleep for real, for Sloth to turn on her so quickly and now to 'wake up' to Jowan actually being a blood mage? Absolutely insane.

No one else seemed quite as amused, however, and it slowly sunk in to Solona that she was in very real trouble. Finally taking in the blood all over Irving and Greagoir, she amended that revelation to very real, very _serious_ Trouble.

* * *

Cullen stopped himself from cursing under his breath, moving smoothly into Threnodies. He hadn't ever liked those verses before, when used around mages (it was hardly fair, really), but at the moment he didn't know strong enough language to accurately portray how he was feeling towards the woman slumped in the Knight Commander's office, or the mage he was heading off to collect.

Niall was easy to find, still among the other quarantined mages, passing the time by reviewing glyph designs with apprentices far too distracted and jittery to pay adequate attention. When Cullen placed a hand on his shoulder, the mage took it in stride, much to the templar's annoyance. Couldn't he jump, or panic, or give some terrible secret away that would let him smite the frustration out?

"What do you need?" He asked, and his voice, soft and low and far-away, grated on Cullen's nerves for no reason.

"Knight Commander Greagoir and First Enchanter Irving requested your presence." Cullen ground out flatly. Niall, at least then, looked surprised.

"All right." He directed his apprentices to gather up his ink bottles and parchment and then gestured for his templar escort to lead the way. It irked Cullen that Niall was so calm about it. He didn't even ask why they were going.

"It's about Mage Amell." Cullen finally offered, aware that the moments of silence in between made the statement odd and awkward, but he dearly wanted to unbalance his 'rival.'

He felt a small surge of triumph when Niall looked visibly disturbed. "Solona? Is she all right?" The mage's pace quickened.

Now it was Cullen's time to act the stoic, quiet templar, and just let Niall _stew_ in his worry. It was a small, superficial victory, but Cullen would take what he could get.

* * *

"I took it from the store room." Solona admitted. There was no way to deny the possession of her lyrium ore; they had it right in front of her.

"Why?" Greagoir asked, his voice heated. He didn't offer possible options, he just asked.

"I wanted to experiment with it."

"Doing _what_?"

"I wanted to see what it could do." It was an honest answer, but it sounded so flimsy. She couldn't quite see herself being able to lie convincingly to the Knight Commander, however.

"…You wanted to 'see what it could do.'" He repeated, slowly, dangerously. She swallowed, nodding. "Is there a particular reason you could not use what lyrium potions you were allotted for this 'research'?" He asked, accusation dripping from every syllable.

"It was all muddled with distillation agent and I just…wanted a chance to work pure lyrium." She winced, cowering from him. Irving cut in there, his tone gentler.

"Why didn't you fill out the research forms and go through the proper channels, Solona?" It was a trap, just as all of Greagoir's questions were, but at least it wasn't full of terrifying templar glowering.

"I didn't know what I wanted to do." She mumbled, but soon it broke into full on confessional babbling. "I was just…helping clear the stockroom of spiders, and it was right there, and I didn't think it would be too dangerous to just take a little and I didn't think anyone would miss it so I just wrapped it up and put it in my pocket and I haven't done _anything_ to it yet because I don't know what to do and—"

"Enough." Greagoir cut her off, emphasizing it with a sideways cut of his hand. She squeaked into silence. "We will come back to that later. What is more important now is the blood mage."

"Jowan can't be a blood mage." Sol protested, again. "I mean…it's _Jowan_." She shut her mouth at the Knight Commander's glare.

"Jowan used blood magic to assault Greagoir and myself, as well as two other templars. He is very much a blood mage." Irving said, gently but firmly. Sol slumped.

"I can't believe it. He said…" She winced, realizing they were immediately latching onto that. "He asked me to help him escape. I told him I was in too much trouble already."

"Yet you said nothing?" Greagoir barked. "You put everyone at risk through your silence!"

"I didn't think he was a blood mage! It was _Jowan_! He passed out during a healing class once at the sight of blood." Sol bit back, realizing this was a bad idea but stressed to the breaking point. She could feel Sloth shaking in her pocket, and she still had to deal with the fact that he had _attacked her_ in the Fade at some point when she could get away from the Knight Commander and First Enchanter.

It was at that point that Cullen returned with Niall, the former looking irritated and the latter just concerned. The mage immediately moved to Solona's side. "What is this about?"

"Perhaps you can enlighten us to why Solona was asleep again and could not be woken up? Or had stolen lyrium from the storeroom?" Greagoir launched immediately into the interrogation. Niall took a step back in surprise.

"Why would I—"

"Everyone is aware that the two of you share quarters now." Greagoir cut him off, clearly unimpressed. "Maybe she convinced you to help the blood mage, to keep her out of trouble? Or she stole the lyrium for you?"

"That's absolutely idiotic." Niall responded, once he was given the chance. "Solona was tired, that is all. She told me this morning she didn't sleep, and just making assumptions about it doesn't prove anything. As for the lyrium, I don't know, but I can imagine she already told you why, and you just don't believe her." He crossed his arms. "She never asked me to help anyone but herself, and that was just to improve her glyphs after I offered."

"This is getting us nowhere." Irving interrupted, quietly. "And we cannot condemn Solona for holding her tongue. Past the lyrium, we have no evidence against her."

"The lyrium is serious enough to warrant punishment, Irving." Greagoir countered. "And these unexplained comas cannot simply be dismissed as Mage Amell being 'tired.'"

"Then what do you suggest, Greagoir?" Irving asked. He was showing his age; the interrogation, for what little he had participated in it, seemed to have tired him out. Or perhaps it was that he was assaulted by a blood mage earlier that did it…

"At the very least…" Greagoir brandished a pair of anti-magic manacles, the kind he, and many other templars, always wore strapped to his belt. Solona paled. "As well as constant surveillance, until I determine that Mage Amell is no longer a threat."

"A threat?" Niall started. "You can't just—" Solona placed a hand on his arm, stopping him. He snapped his mouth shut, but was clearly unhappy about it.

"And _separate rooms_, as is _appropriate_." Greagoir hissed. Solona's grip on Niall's arm tightened fractionally as she felt him shift into indignant action. He halted, again. "Ser Cullen, escort Mage Amell back to her quarters, where she will stay for the remainder of the day." The Knight Commander gestured sharply at her, and she stood up, holding out her wrists. He snapped the manacles over them, and she felt the whole world mute around her and inside her. It was…entirely disorienting. "Dismissed."

The walk back to her ruined room was quiet and tense, with her arm looped resolutely around Niall's, Cullen glaring but giving them a bit of space. Solona didn't spare him a second glance, and even made a point of pausing outside her room to kiss Niall. He frowned into her lips.

"It's just for a little while." She murmured. He sighed, nodding.

"Just more reason for mages to live on some remote island away from everything." He grumbled. He pressed his forehead against hers. "Well, in a little while then. I'll check on you as often as possible."

"Thank you, Niall." She gave him a small smile, which disappeared when Cullen cleared his throat. "I'll talk to you later. They didn't say you couldn't see me, but it's probably better not to push our luck today."

"I'll come see you tomorrow."

"All right." She agreed, and he left, slowly. Solona rearranged her face as he left, clicking into place the bored serenity she was so used to. As she entered her room, Cullen stationed himself just inside the doorway.

No way to talk to Sloth, but Solona was done talking for the day, anyway. Careful to block Cullen's sight, she closed her fist around his small form and locked him in the mostly undamaged night stand's drawer. He could chew on whatever he liked in there until she could deal with him later.

Throwing herself on the still-ruined bed, she faced the wall so Cullen couldn't see her. It just wasn't _fair_. But she would be damned if she would cry.

* * *

_Ugh. I hated this chapter in every way but I had to get it done. I dunno, it just seems so bleah. I hope it's all right, though._

_If you read this and then get bored waiting because your DA2 hasn't arrived in the mail __**either**__, feel free to check out my new fic, that is on the same timeline as this one, 'Byroads.' In case you were wondering what Tabris, Brosca, Aeducan and Mahariel were up to while Cousland drank from the chalice and Solona played with demons._

_Man, I hope my DA2 comes in soon…_


	15. Mentors

"Go away, Sloth." Solona hissed. The Fadescape was not a welcome sight at the moment, not after what had happened last time. Much less welcome was the sight of the demon who had attacked her the last time she had visited, with little to no warning or provocation.

The mage had put off sleeping as much as possible, considering that she _knew_ the demon would be there. It looked quite irritable, or as much as a bear could.

"You locked me in a drawer, and I cannot gnaw my way out without those fool templars hearing. How else are we to speak?" Sloth grumbled. It wasn't lunging at her or trying to chew off her face, which was a definite improvement over the last time.

"Well, perhaps if you hadn't _attacked me_." The mage snapped. "All that about demons that aren't really demons and…and…_you attacked me_!"

"Yes." It huffed, resting its chin on its paws, apparently less than upset about Solona's irritation. "It worked, did it not?"

"It worked? In what way?" She crossed her arms, glaring at the bear. How could it just lay there?

"You woke up." It explained, reasonably. "As if from a nightmare. Mortals always awake before they are truly in danger when in the Fadescape, if allowed to. And I did not stop you, and you were not held by lyrium or another, so you left."

"…You could have warned me." Solona groused. Sloth's amused chuckle did nothing to improve her mood.

"You would not have truly been frightened then, would you?" It reasoned. She knew this was true, but it didn't make it _better_.

"Look, what do you want? I can't do any magic with these shackles on." Even in the Fade, her form had remembered the bands that suppressed the power in her being.

"Well, apart from being released from your drawer, or at least fed and watered from time to time so my body does not waste away beneath me…I understand there is not much else you can do for me." The statements were matter-of-fact, spoken as if this were obvious. But they put Solona immediately on her guard.

"So, you're just going to…move on? Find some other mage?" She ventured cautiously, a small part of her brain warning her not to give him ideas, squashed under the weight of her curiosity and paranoia.

"Of course not." The bear huffed. "Do you think I would risk everything here by searching out another?" It rolled its eyes. "Do not insult me, Solona."

"Wouldn't it be easier?" She asked petulantly, forgetting for a moment that she really _didn't_ want it to go, for whatever reason. The lyrium singing had become important to her, in a way she didn't entirely understand. Important enough to risk further ire from the templars, certainly. She would just have to avoid aiding more blood mages in the future.

"No." Sloth's answer startled her.

"It…it wouldn't?" She clarified, dumbly.

"No. It would not." It repeated, yawning. "Now, go away. I need to conserve my energy if I am to keep this frail mouse alive until you are able to feed him."

"You can't just leave me with no answ—" Solona started, irritation creeping into her voice before the heavy, wooden feeling of dreaming passed into her limbs and sucked her into a true sleep.

* * *

A week passed. Solona, never bothered by templars before, began to feel stifled and claustrophobic. It was difficult to ignore the presence of another person, always right there, never too far from her, always watching. Unnerving, difficult to slip food and water into Sloth's drawer, self-conscious around Niall, unable to concentrate on any of his lessons (unable to practice with her cuffs on)…she was certain she was going to go insane. She was used to solitude in the day and Niall's warmth at night, and now she had neither.

Eventually, however, she found that she bored the templars terribly. They had started off on high alert, especially after Jowan's escape. Their gaze had bored into her intensely, examining every action to the point where she half-expected them to accuse her of practicing blood magic in her few moments of privacy in the bath. But after a week of her scribbling in her journal and drawing crude glyph mock-ups and reading books and piecing together scraps of music, they relaxed around her. Solona had always been the least malicious mage in the tower, and the old complacency began to sneak back in.

It made it easier to slip nourishment to Sloth, though he hadn't invaded her dreams or spoken to her since he explained why he attacked her and refused to answer her questions. It was frustrating, and if she had been crueler, she would have deprived him of food until he was forced to interact with her. Though there was probably more of a likelihood that he would chew his way out and attract templar attention…

It turned out to be a non-issue however, as after the week was out, the Enchanters who had gone to Ostagar returned ingloriously with disastrous news. King Cailan was dead, and there were whispers about betrayal, from Grey Wardens or Teyrn Loghain. This was of greater importance to the Enchanters, the ones who occasionally left the Tower, than to the apprentices and mages. To them, these men and their armies and their battles were just names and events they could never participate in.

Solona's main concern was certainly not the Blight. No, at the moment, the more pressing matter was the domineering, disappointed _glare_ of her former mentor.

"I see that I go away for a month and you fall to pieces." Wynne's arms were crossed, and Solona was busy making herself look small. Perhaps if she succeeded, the Senior Enchanter could not tear her down too much.

"I passed my Harrowing." She managed. It was a little more sullen than it should have been, and Sol realized that she had stopped putting on her facade of serenity and rushed to piece it back together. Wynne remained unimpressed.

"Yes. And now you're in shackles, watched over day and night by your own personal templar guards, after collapsing several times in an unwaking slumber, steal lyrium, and are suspected in helping a blood mage escape the Tower after destroying his phylactery." Wynne's voice was dry and her words direct. Solona's mask did not fit right and she felt herself wince.

"I saved a templar…" Her quiet voice made the act sound trivial, a consolation prize. The templar by the door (it wasn't Cullen, for he had his helmet on) shifted slightly at the mention, though the intent behind it was unclear.

"Yes, I know." Wynne's voice came out in a sigh, a rush of exasperation. "And that was very brave. But you know it cannot cancel out those other transgressions. Any other mage would have had far worse punishments heaped onto them, so I suppose it is lucky that up until now your record has been spotless."

"I haven't done anything wrong." Solona sniffed, rubbing at the manacles on her wrists. The dull, lyrium-scribed silver was always warm.

"Yes, you have." Wynne frowned. "At the very least, stealing lyrium and covering up for Jowan would be enough. Do you have anything to say about your odd sleeping bouts?"

"No." She was getting tired of answering that question. "I don't know why I can't be woken up." The lies were getting easier, at least.

"Very well." Wynne conceded the point. Her posture relaxed slightly, and she stopped crossing her arms. "We can only hope that Greagoir feels your lesson learned soon enough. The mages may soon be called on to protect the land against the Blight, and we will need all of us."

"I suppose I would be relegated to mana blooms and the like." Solona could not keep the resentment out of her voice. When before the idea had never bothered her (replenishing other mages was usually the safest of jobs one could perform in a time of crisis), after facing down demons in her Harrowing and giant spiders in the storerooms, it seemed a little…dull.

Then she remembered the panic and terror she'd felt in all of those situations and she wished she could swallow those words. What was she _thinking_?

"Most likely." Wynne's wry smile was back, and Solona felt at least a little more comfortable coming out of her defensive curl. Then the frown was back. "But nothing is decided yet, and if Greagoir feels you cannot be trusted, you may stay behind with the apprentices."

That wouldn't be so bad, really. Someone always had to, anyway.

"Well, I did not come here simply to lecture you. Congratulations on passing your Harrowing, Solona. Despite everything that came after, I truly believe you deserve this." Wynne's smile was generous, though Solona felt the barb of the subtle backhanded compliment. 'Despite everything' indeed.

"Thank you." Solona replied, not ungraciously.

"I have to go. The Senior Enchanters are gathering to discuss our next course of action." Wynne turned to leave. "I know it is…uncomfortable to wear those bracers, but I am sure they will be off soon enough."

And then she was gone, and Solona felt somewhat cowed and irritated. Which was pretty normal for meeting with Wynne. She had never really met the old woman's expectations, except in the area of mana control. She was a barely adequate healer (which was all right, as healing was one of the most complicated schools of magic to specialize in) and her only real control seemed to be in the area of mana.

Actually, thinking on it, Niall and Sloth were the only mentors who hadn't, at one point or another, thrown their hands up in frustration (though Sloth did not have hands, to be fair). And she was currently cut off from both of them.

She sat on the edge of her bed, feeling quite sorry for herself, when she got her second visitor of the day.

"Mage Amell." The voice was mocking and not at all friendly, and Solona's head snapped up to see Senior Enchanter Uldred in her doorway. "Oh, stop hovering." He snapped at the templar. "I want a word with her."

"But Greagoir said—" The templar protested. She recognized his voice; Ser Tam.

"Greagoir trusts me. I'll come get you when we're done." Uldred waved the man away, and he reluctantly conceded. Uldred was a highly respected Enchanter, who had rendered many great services to the templars, especially in rooting out blood mages. If the templars couldn't trust him alone with Solona, who could they?

"Hello, Senior Enchanter Uldred." Solona said automatically. She dearly hoped her face was back into neutral order.

"Solona Amell, freshly Harrowed and already getting in trouble with the templars." Uldred was never one of the most welcoming of the Enchanters, and he was certainly not putting her at ease.

"I wasn't trying to—" Solona started. Uldred cut her off, however, with his nasty habit of interrupting.

"Spare me the details." He waved a hand curtly. "I cannot imagine it has been very pleasant for you, watched over day and night by the templars."

"Only a little different than normal." She said slowly. Despite him being a Libertarian, he was also one of the most adept at rooting out blood mages. The whole Tower knew it, but he kept catching them. Solona did not want to be pushed into admitting anything to the man.

His smile was anything but friendly. "I would think we are of the same mind when we think this is going a little too far." His hand darted out and gripped her left wrist before she could react, hand around the manacle. "Heavy handed and over-reactive, wouldn't you say?"

"I cannot say I enjoy it, but I am sure it isn't forever…" Solona resisted the urge to _back away get away_ and scream _let go of me_ at the man. Her voice was shaking and she hated it.

"Still. If it were to come to it…would you really be a Lotyalist or an Aequitarian after this?" He spat the names of the other fraternities as if they were insults.

"I…I'm not in a fraternity." She stumbled out.

"Perhaps you should consider it, then. It isn't always good to avoid picking a side." His words were a threat, and thinly veiled. She swallowed.

"I'll think about it." She managed.

"Time is running out, Solona. And you're no one's pet anymore. No one will protect you from the templars if they decided you weren't worth the risk." His voice had gone quiet, malicious, and Solona felt fear balling in her chest and stomach. A faint scratching noise came from the drawer where Sloth was hidden.

"I…I won't be a problem, ser." She breathed. He was too close for comfort, still holding her wrist.

"Remember whose side you're on, mage." He hissed. In a flash, there was a searing pain across her palm, and blood started spilling out of the wound. She stared at the slice in horror. She couldn't heal it. Not with the manacles on. And that was…that was a sure sign of blood magic.

Uldred's grin was back, as he swiped a cloth across her hand, and his rough healing magic poured into her skin, sewing up the gash and leaving an ugly scar. Her breathing came in panicked bursts. She looked like a blood mage. She would forever look like a blood mage.

"We wouldn't want anyone to find out about that, now would we?" He dropped her wrist, and threw a pair of gloves in her lap. Loudly, he said, "A gift, for your successful Harrowing." He stepped out of the room, and she hurriedly pulled on the left glove before the templar re-entered. Ser Tam barely took note of them, thanks to Uldred's announcement.

Solona sat shaking and terrified on the bed for a long time after his departure, unable to even begin processing the event rationally. How could he do that to her? Was that what happened to the others he turned in? _What did he want_?

She didn't know, but the possibilities churned her stomach.

* * *

_Well, thanks everyone for their patience. My ability to write was previously wrapped up in DA2. Now that I've beaten it twice and have several partial playthroughs under my belt, I'm beginning to piece together how I want my DA2 story to fit into this whole Kicking and Screaming/Songbird/Byroads timeline. Still deciding on what Hawke I'm going to use, though…_

_Anyway, I hope this chapter was worth the wait! No Cullen or Niall, but Wynne and Uldred! Gosh Uldred is creeptastic. Poor Solona._

_Thanks for waiting! Hopefully I'll get back into the swing of things with some regular updates. We're almost to the point where I can get Kicking and Screaming running again without ruining Songbird progression! Yay!_


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